


The Ravages of Eternity

by sariane



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, M/M, Tenth Doctor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-16
Updated: 2012-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 15:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 67,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariane/pseuds/sariane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Master reluctantly agrees to help the Doctor on a desperate quest to stop the End of Time. Together, they travel across the stars one final time in a twisted truce that strains them both and crosses old boundaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Minor spoilers for all new series Doctor Who through The End of Time Part 1, Torchwood seasons 1-2, and classic series companions. Major spoilers for Journey's End, the Specials, Torchwood seasons 1-2, and the classic series episode Earthshock. No spoilers for season 5, although some characters make an appearance.  
> Warning(s): Vague sexual scenes, dark themes, swearing, violence, death, a misleading and manipulative relationship, and minor gore. Chapters will be marked individually for violence and gore. Please let me know if I missed anything!
> 
> I spent nearly 6 months planning, writing, and stressing out over this fanfiction. While I have written a lot of Doctor/Master fanfic over the past few years as practice, this is one of the first things I've actually published online. I hope it's enjoyable and I have stayed true to the characters and the show.  
> This fanfiction was written in American English, and I have only strived to change my vocabulary, not spellings. However, I am not aware of all errors and there will be some out of place Americanisms. I avidly try to find and correct these to make the story more realistic. Feel free to point out any errors! I also greatly appreciate constructive criticism in reviews.  
> Thanks to all of my friends who helped to encourage me throughout the writing process, especially Carbutt. <3
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, Torchwood, or any other concepts borrowed for this fan-work. Any historic peoples mentioned are used with the utmost respect to supplement the story. I am not making any profit from this. All due respect to the original owners.

"What if I ask you for help?"

Somewhere, in the back of the Master's mind, everything explodes and, whirring, rearranges itself, tucking a tiny spark of hope away.

He doesn't shoot down the Doctor's offer, doesn't scoff and laugh, but bites his tongue as the Doctor continues in his pleading speech.

"There's more at work tonight than you and me," he continues, still serious and dramatic. "I've been told, something is returning..."

"And here I am," the Master says dryly. The Doctor shakes his head.

"No, something more," the Doctor dismisses it instantly. The Master knows it's the same old story of eminent doom and destruction, and that the Doctor won't listen unless he makes him.

"What if it isn't?" he counters, "what if the drums, what if they know it, too?" The Doctor is rendered speechless; his eyelids are a confused flutter as he considers the evidence.

"No, listen to me, they said more. They told me…they told me I'm going to die. I've heard it again and again, my song is ending, He will knock four times…I'm going to die. And there's more, something's returning, something is coming. They said that the End of Time itself will occur, nothing about the drums, that is just the sound of your insanity," the Doctor continues, brushing away the Master's ideas. The Master runs his tongue over his grimy teeth as he smiles predatorily.

"You always think I'm mad, Doctor. I'm mad, so I hear the drums. If you'd just listen for once, just hear them," he closes his eyes briefly as he speaks, a man filled with passionate loathing of his fate, "you'd realize. I'm mad _because of them_." They pause momentarily, sizing each other up, calculating exact words to convince the other of their cause.

"I scratch your back, you scratch mine," the Doctor murmurs absently.

"Sorry?"

The Doctor takes a deep breath, tilts his head to the side, and wets his lips, as he always does when he's about to go off on a tangent. He starts, "You want to get rid of, or at least find the source of your drums-"

The Master mutters, "Among other things," but the Doctor carries on.

"And I want to find the Ood's prophecy, the End of Time, whatever is returning. I want to stop it. I can't do it alone, I know that now." He pauses briefly, like he'd just remembered something. "Your resurrection, as planned as it was, wasn't a coincidence. The timing is perfect. You're connected to it all."

"What would I get out of this, then?" the Master crosses his arms. He realizes suddenly that they're both still kneeling on the dusty, cold, grey ground, and wonders where the Doctor parked his TARDIS.

"You'd find the - We'd find the source of the drums, together."

The Master wants to scoff at the concept of 'together,' but he very pointedly asks, "What else?" The Doctor bites his lip, either uncertain of what to say or how to say something.

"What do you really want?" he asks, "all of these years, fighting."

"Power?" the Master says it like a question, not a reply. He doesn't understand what the Doctor's getting at.

"That's not it," the Doctor shakes his head, "You could've had so much power over the years, but you always ran into me, always bothered me enough that I stopped you."

"Hmm," he pretends to ponder the question, "Revenge? Fun? A challenge? I'm still not convinced that you can _help_ me." The Doctor doesn't believe he's telling the entire truth, and the Master knows it.

"Come on, you can't have gone on with this for all of those years without a real reason!"

"The drums aren't reason enough?"

"Then let _that_ be your reason to come with me, Master, and both of us can -"

"You still don't understand," the Master growls. "You never _listen_!"

"I'm listening!" the Doctor protests.

"No, you're not, you're talking, always talking, trying to figure me out" the Master counters, his voice beginning to rise higher and higher in pitch and desperation as he speaks. "Just _you_ listen to _me_ , Doctor, just this once," he pleads, and slowly leans forward, takes the Doctor's head in his hands, and mashes their foreheads and minds together.

They're both disoriented at first, but then the Doctor goes rigid with shock.

 _one-two-three-four_

 _one-two-three-four_

 _one-two-three-four_

 _one-two-three-four_

The drums beat their way into the Doctor's skull as well, and he gasps in shock, trying to pull away from the Master and his torturous echoes, but his enemy's gritty hands hold him there, force him to listen to the drums that beat away in the Master's mind.

"Wh-What is that?" he gasps, as if the Master _knows_ , and the drumming continues to beat into both of their skulls, harder and stronger than ever before.

"It's...it's...We could find it...we could trace it like this," the Master laughs with glee. "Now you see, Doctor, this is my life. Every hour, every minute, second, and more than that. We're Time Lords," he pounds a fist into his chest, between his hearts, "We live between seconds! I feel that constant banging against my skull between every second, and I'm fully aware of every beat." He stares cross-eyed at the Doctor in their close proximity, who is too scared, too shocked, and too full of pity to pull away from his enemy and the noise.

"We can find it," the Doctor says, entranced by the Master's psychopathic grin. He closes his eyes for a moment before the Master feels him begin to pull away. The Master's hands linger and tighten on the side of his head, holding them together a moment too long. The Doctor panics and pleads, "Please, Master," a request simple enough, but sufficient in giving the Master momentary satisfaction. The Master smiles, releasing him so suddenly that they rocket apart.

Something cracks inside the Master's head and his vision is filled with electric blue light as the spare artron energy from his torn body torrents through him. It gushes through his every nerve and pore unpredictably, and he roars in agony. The Doctor's eyes widen, he's not sure how to help, and hesitant to approach the man writhing on the ground before him. He doesn't want to touch him, for fear of the energy and man that could kill him.

Inside the Master's head, the drums echo louder and louder, swell against his skull, and he grabs two fistfuls of his hair. The attack finally fades and his reality stitches back together. He's aware of the Doctor standing over him, staring down pityingly. He curls up on the ground, his body still aching and cold but caught in a pulsing inferno of energy. He pleads, "Help me," the words low and hoarse caught up in his tormented throat before he even knows what he's asking. The Doctor can only think of how strange they sound, how strange it always is to see the Master's plots turn on him and force him to entreat.

The Doctor springs into action. He isn't hesitant to touch his enemy now, and gently threads his arm around the Master's waist, pulling him up. He half-carries him through the dark, straining against his weight, finally reaching the TARDIS. The Doctor is inside with a snap of his fingers and a few psychic reassurances to the TARDIS. He gently rolls the Master onto the pristine white cot that the TARDIS has provided, and pauses on his way to the medical bay only to pilot them into the Time Vortex.

The blue box fades into the night just before search lights and gusts of wind from a helicopter sweep over the spot in the empty, dusty wasteland.

Inside the TARDIS, the Doctor is in the plain, white, sterile medical bay of the TARDIS, shining a light in the Master's unmoving eyes and checking his heartbeats with a stethoscope.

"Master?" he asks, concerned, "Can you hear me?"

After examining the Master for a moment longer, he sets to work, the Doctor healing his arch enemy.

* * *

When the Master wakes up, he feels as if his every atom has been stretched and fried, then pushed back together again. He keeps his eyes shut, trying to stay separate from the real world as long as possible. He wonders why he awoke so suddenly, and then notices a gentle prodding at the edge of his mind, which he quickly recognizes as the Doctor. He thinks, _Get the hell out_ , and the Doctor's presence recedes.

"Sorry," the Doctor murmurs from beside him. He's vaguely aware of two ghosts of hands detaching themselves from his temples. He opens his eyes and then blinks at the bright, harsh light of the med bay. The room is too white, the light too artificial, the place far too sterile for his comfort. He realizes that he's shirtless and covered in wires connected to the TARDIS. The Master opens his mouth to speak, but his mouth is unexpectedly dry and gritty and his voice catches in his throat.

The Doctor squirts water from a sort of pouch (much like the ones Earth children carry in their lunches) into his mouth and he drinks greedily, just now realizing how thirsty and hungry he is. He tastes the added nutrients and vitamins in the water, making even it taste sterile. He wants real food, something warm and solid. Maybe even tea, which would help. He's hungry and weak, but the hunger is less now, a normal need for sustenance.

The Master starts weakly, "I can do that my-" but stops as his wrist jolts back suddenly and refuses to budge. The Doctor sets down the water the Master was reaching for. "Restraints? Kinky." He smiles a little.

"You were struggling in your sleep," the Doctor explains. "You went into a frenzy, nearly strangled me." The Master doesn't apologize or seem surprised, like most people would, the Doctor notes. "I connected you to the TARDIS. Only she has the right sort of energy to heal you. Now, you're the picture of perfect health." he unbuckles the straps as he speaks. The Master sits up and rubs his wrists. He pulls a few wires from his head and chest.

"You sure are great at playing Doctor," he says dryly. The Doctor gives him a look that he's sick of by now. He thinks. "Okay, clothes," he says, looking down at his bare chest and dirty black pants, "and a shower. And food."

"The wardrobe is six doors down, to the left. The bathroom is two to the right. The kitchen is the room without a door," the Doctor supplies awkwardly, turning around to fiddle with the equipment the Master was hooked up to.

"Where do you keep Narnia?" the Master snorts. He stands up cautiously, not trusting his legs, but they hold, even if they're a little stiff. He's had much worse nights. He leaves the medical bay with some caution, wary of the Doctor's sudden and uncharacteristic trust. He turns to the right instead, and attempts to open a door that has been painted light pink, with flowers on it. The handle shocks him and he jumps back, startled.

"Meet me in the console room, we'll need to talk," the Doctor appears just long enough to speak to him. He watches the Doctor turn down the hallway and disappear into the console room. The Master begrudgingly counts six doors down and enters the wardrobe, muttering to himself about what the hell he thinks he's doing here.


	2. The Truce

The Doctor is humming to himself absently, deep in thought, as he adjusts some controls underneath the TARDIS's mushroom-shaped console, as extra safeguards. The Master won't be able to pilot the TARDIS easily, won't be able to play any of the music he wants or switch any rooms around. The Doctor tries to think of more things he should guard, but he's also confused. Half of his mind is constantly focused on the Master; where he is, the spark of his mind nearby, what they're going to do, how they're going to do it, why he finally agreed to come with him. The other half is thinking up what ifs; a dangerous thing for a Time Lord. _What is, what was, what could be_ weighs down on his mind until he barely dares to think of what they could be. He hears footsteps and looks up from his work. The Doctor swallows, hastily stands up and nonchalantly sticks his hands into his pockets.

The Master steps into the console room. He's wearing a grin and a new set of clothes from the wardrobe. He twists around to show off, makes a pose. "Like it?" The Doctor's eyes travel up and down; note that he's wearing a black version of his own outfit, very similar to his apparel on the Valiant, and the Doctor's own favorite black converse. He raises an eyebrow.

"Those are my shoes," he pouts. "They go with my unlucky tux and bow-tie…" Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was the shoes that brought him so much misfortune.

"Technically, everything that I'm wearing is yours," the Master grins, striding further into the console room and up to the Doctor, making an effort to mirror his expression, eyebrow and all. "But, if you want me to take it all off..." The Doctor snorts and he crosses his arms, a signal that broadcasts 'behave' at a very high frequency. The Doctor hasn't prepared himself for this. "Okay," the Master over exaggerates a frown, "You want us to talk about our feelings or something now, right?"

The Doctor shoots another look his way, a tactic that clearly isn't working, and starts, "First of all, even though in the past we've-"

"Don't you dare get nostalgic on me," the Master interrupts.

"Master, listen to me!" the Doctor protests, flinging his hands into the air.

"I have been!" he replies, "Many times, many lectures. I understand, I'll try to behave, I won't kill anyone or touch your precious TARDIS, but only if you don't treat me like one of your idiotic companions," he pokes his finger into the Doctor's chest to strengthen his point. "I'm not asking you to trust me; I'm asking you to respect me as your equal." The Doctor is lost for words for once, staring at him with guarded eyes.

"Don't touch me," he mumbles in response. He pulls away and turns to walk around the console, pretending to check something as he smoothes his clothing where the Master poked him. The Master purses his lips and adjusts his approach, and just stands there silently looking expectantly at the Doctor.

When he remains silent, he asks, "What's the plan?" The Doctor looks up suddenly, like he's been waiting for him, and doesn't appear to be mad or upset.

"We feed your psychic resonance through the TARDIS in order to examine the drumbeat and trace the origin of the signal through time," he shoots off quickly, and the Master follows his every word. He's put a fair amount of thought into this, probably has since he met the Master this time around. He's the Doctor, and this is what he does. He's not complete without someone or something to fix. The Master knows that they're both brilliant and will have everything completely figured out and executed in no time. That's why he's more concerned about the end of their doubtlessly brief collaboration.

"What if we can't find the origin?" he asks what they're both thinking. "What if it's destroyed, or nonexistent, or _Time Locked_ ," he growls the last suggestion. The Doctor's head snaps up.

"You think it's something to do with Gallifrey?" the Doctor says aloud. The Master blinks at him several times.

"That's when it started. The Untempered Schism." It's obvious, but the Doctor never was fond of Gallifrey, even if he had been broken by destroying it. It's obvious why he wouldn't want to think about it. The Doctor takes a deep breath.

"There's only one way to find out."

He instructs the Master, in great detail, of his own theories. He concentrates on the proper inflection of his words, on what he should emphasize as _wrong_ or _right_ in the timelines, in how the universe is reacting to the stress and strain of missing Time Lords. Whatever the End of Time is, it's connected to them, connected to the drums, and to the Doctor's own time line. It's complicated and messy, but they used to talk like this for hours, when they were young and foolish. It's easy to fall back into that same mindset.

In less than five minutes, the Master has finally agreed to let down his mental barriers in order to connect with the TARDIS's own psychic circuits. Together, they adjust the settings of the TARDIS (the Doctor keeps a very close eye on the Master as he assists), and carefully calibrate her salvaged controls. She's so strong that she could break the Master. They need to be very, very careful about this. Neither of them, as brilliant as they are, is quite sure what they're doing.

Working together like this reminds them of every time the Master failed and required the Doctor's help. They almost wish they could blame the other to rationalize it. The Master is partially certain as he reflects that he began to botch his plans on purpose after the first time they worked side-by-side. It seems ironic to him that the Doctor is now the one who needs his help. For what, neither of them knows yet. The Doctor, lost in his own thoughts, almost smiles and says something about old times, but decides it is best not to. There are too many memories; who knows which one the Master would think of at his words.

Finally, they're ready. The Master closes his eyes, breathes deeply, and the Doctor begins his countdown. When he opens his mind to the TARDIS, the drums are so loud he nearly falls over. She weaves in and out of the crevices of his brain, flirting with one or two almost-kind thoughts, nudging at some of his memories, and once, bravely throwing the door open to a desire that the Master slams shut immediately.

She's insufferably kind to him, although he hurt her so much when he turned her into the Paradox Machine, and she is even a bit jealous of him. She has forgiven him somehow, out of some kind of loyalty and respect for her pilot. In that respect, she's very much like the Doctor. She finds the sound, the drumbeat in his mind, and tries to plug into it. Abruptly and without warning, her presence is shut off. He opens his eyes, a question on his lips.

"Your psychic resonance isn't strong enough enough to home in on the signal," the Doctor explains briefly, running a hand through his wild hair. "We'll have to figure out something else." He's disappointed with their failure. The Master licks his lips as he thinks, watching the Doctor alternatively mess up and flatten his brown hair. It's hypnotic.

"By how much?" he says suddenly, tilting his head to the side. "How much more does she need?" The Doctor hesitates; he's thought of this and dismissed it already. If the Doctor won't tell him, he'll find out on his own.

"50%," he supplies reluctantly.

"We link minds, you hold on to the signal, problem solved," the Master says simply, and the Doctor flinches. "Come on, your precious little TARDIS will be here to protect you. My mind isn't that scary. You let me in back at the wasteland," he points out.

"That was different, I only let you send me a message," the Doctor counters. "You have a talent for hypnotism, you know."

"There isn't another way," he argues. "Come on, it's only for a moment! Are you scared of me?" he chides the Doctor.

"Excuse me if I don't want you running through my every thought," the Doctor snaps.

"I don't exactly want you seeing inside of my head, either, Doctor," the Master retorts.

The Doctor takes a moment to think, then sighs, "Okay." He tentatively steps to the Master, placing his cool fingertips a hesitant hair's breadth from the Master's temples before he gently makes contact. Sparks fly through the grooves in his fingertips and send shivers down the Master's spine as their minds connect. He takes his hands and places his calloused fingertips on the Doctor's own temples, pulling their foreheads together again. It's a more intimate form of psycho-communication, the method he'd used earlier for its simplicity. It's more effective, and sends the Doctor a message he desperately wants and doesn't want to send.

"Ready?" the Doctor says quietly, staring him right in the eye. They close their eyes at precisely the same moment, and their minds blend together like shadows at sunset.

The Master is instantly aware of a sort of storm brewing in the Doctor's head. Thunder crashes, a metaphorical battle in his mind, a sadness, a lonely feeling that resonates through his emotions. He wants to roll his eyes; the Doctor is so melodramatic.

The Doctor is aware of hardly anything except drumming, drumming, and fire, and water, and _drowning_.

Whispers echo across their minds, subconscious thoughts, dreams, desires, and needs. Their past lives are jumbled together. They both try to ignore the voices. The Master swears that he hears Professor Yana moaning about lack of appreciation. The Doctor wishes that he could silence the voice of his Ninth self, expressing his loneliness.

 _Come on_ , the Doctor's mind calls to the Master through the chaos. _Let's get this over with._

They both focus on the drumming; focus on feeding it to the TARDIS, who is waiting on the edges of both of their minds, humming pleasantly, and trying to calm them down. She takes the signal and they feel it increasing, the fear wells up in both of them as they feel the beat overwhelming their senses. The Master is used to this; his veins always feel as if they're on fire. The Doctor isn't, and he panics, thinking of pulling away, his fingers begin to disappear when the Master's hands reach up and hold them there, hold them together.

They're both faintly aware of the TARDIS rumbling into life, the vibrations of her engines snaking into their feet, but they're so caught up in the experience that they hardly notice. It's almost like being on Gallifrey again, like being in the Citadel, surrounded by the sum of the psychic presences, the voice of the mob. The Doctor eats it up, his fingers stop hovering and dig into the Master's scalp, and now it's the Master's turn to be afraid. The Doctor is rushing through his thoughts, hardly paying attention to them, trying to delve back into his memories of Gallifrey without even realizing what he's doing, what he's thinking. It's almost as if his deep desire is acting on its own.

 _Doctor, stop!_ The Master yells at him. _Get out; we're done,_ he says harshly, as a particularly painful memory is dug up. The Doctor doesn't listen, or is too afraid to, and he continues. The Master doesn't hesitate to dig into the Doctor's own memories, searching for a weak spot.

It doesn't take him long to find what he's looking for

There's a girl, a human, of course. She has blonde hair, brown eyes, and a smile that seems to be on her face in every memory. The Master searches for her name and finds it almost instantly; it's as if the Doctor has scrawled it, lovesick, all over this part of his mind. It's the girl who'd absorbed the time vortex. He should've known.

 _Rose,_ the Master says. _Who was Rose?_

The Doctor freezes in his search, no longer lost. He realizes what he's doing and recedes with a painful awareness. His fingers loosen their grip. _She was...she was a friend._

 _Really? Like the rest of your friends?_

 _No, she was...she was different._

 _Did you love her?_

 _Get out._

 _Did you love her, Doctor?_

 _I'm sorry._

The Doctor pushes the Master away, yelling, "Stop it, I'm sorry, okay?" in a jumble of words. The Master glares, scoffing at the Doctor.

"You fell in love with a human," he spits. "You thought we were dead, and you fell in love with her so quickly." The Doctor doesn't understand why this is such an insult, he's loved humans before…

"Stop it," the Doctor says. "I'm sorry, I should've realized, I shouldn't have-"

"Yes, you shouldn't have," the Master snarls. "Remember that."

For a long moment, they stare at each other, true equals, doubling and tripling their mental barriers against each other.

The TARDIS makes a beeping noise and the Doctor turns away to awkwardly fuss with the console. The Master crosses his arms like a pouty teenager.

"She's traced it," the Doctor says, pretending that nothing happened, trying to remain agreeable. "And...Oh." The Master looks at him strangely, and then looks closely at the screen the Doctor is peering at, the Gallifreyan symbols flashing quickly across it.

"That doesn't sound like a good...oh." Their eyes meet for a second, and then they awkwardly look away again.

"Four different locations," the Master asks. "How can four different places be transmitting the same signal, at exactly the same time? It's even synchronized!"

"I don't know," the Doctor says, "unless..." he trails off again, typing something into the console.

"What is that?" the Master asks, as a strange picture lights up the screen. "It looks like a...diamond." The picture looks like a rough sketch, computer generated lines that make triangles that make the shape of a diamond.

"It can't be," the Doctor mutters, putting on his glasses. The Master stares at him for a long moment before he tears his attention away and back to the scanner. Everything suddenly clicks into place.

"It's a white-point star," the Master says in disbelief. "The drums, they come from a white-point star. From Gallifrey." He looks at the Doctor, his mouth open, looking very shocked and sad.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I am so sorry. It _was_ from Gallifrey," the Doctor says. He slides off his glasses and chews on the end of them absently.

"But…how could…" The Master looks at the Doctor blankly, knows in one glance that he only wears those glasses to make him look clever and intriguing, only one quality which it actually achieves, and then reads the expression on his face.

"You've seen it before. That particular diamond," he realizes.

"The Time War is sealed inside a Time Lock," the Doctor starts, as if he's going to explain the mechanics to the Master. "Like a bubble, but -"

"I know all of that. Probably more than you! Cut to the chase," the Master says with frustration.

"I destroyed it all. I had to lock it with something so that no one could go back and change it."

"You locked the Time War with a white-point star?" the Master asks in complete shock.

"Yes."

"Not a riddle? Or a code? Or a complex sequence involving time anomalies and events impossible to solve by anyone except perhaps a Time Lord? Which you would have been the last of." The Doctor bites his lip.

"It seemed…fitting," he fishes for the right word. "A white-point star isn't just a diamond. It's a concept. You know why they're so rare, so special. The mathematics of this particular diamond weren't like other white-point stars. It was _art_." This doubt that the Master is expressing deeply wounds the Doctor. He had never doubted his choice of lock.

"This particular…where did you get it, the rod of Rassilon?"

"Well…It's kind of symbolic."

"You made a physical lock for the Time Lock, which contained the powerful, destructive, devastating Time War, using a rare, tiny crystal from Gallifrey, because it was _symbolic_?" the Master says loudly and incredulously.

"It's not just a physical lock, though, because it's not just a diamond. A white-point star is, above all, an idea. Each has the ability to hold a signal, to represent something. It doesn't have to have been palpable."

"You really believe that, don't you," the Master says in disbelief. He tries not to sneer at the Doctor's idiocy. "So, what did you do with it?"

"I threw it into a rift in time and space so it could be near impossible to find," the Doctor says, "in comparison to your ideas, it's the most foolproof." A look of dread passes over his face. "And, somehow, Dalek Caan broke through. He went mad in the process, bringing Davros along with him. He might have gone mad, too, I don't know, he already was." The Master digests all of this.

"So there's a leak. A crack. A hole. Something is tampering with the Time Lock and affecting Time itself."

Neither of the pair knows just what to say.

The Master chooses his next question carefully and breaks the silence. "What rift did you throw it into?" He chooses to overlook everything else for the moment.

"Uh, well, it was fairly new, relatively speaking; I'd never seen it before-"

"Please tell me it's not the Rift in Cardiff, Doctor?" The Doctor bites his lip and looks away. "You can't be serious."

"It was the best option!"

"This has _you_ written all over it. It wasn't the best option, which would have been destroying it." He sighs. "Reminds me of the little quest for the segments to the Key to Time. Romana told me about that."

"It was inspired," the Doctor shrugs. "But it wasn't destroyed, it broke into four pieces, obviously, and they're still giving off their signal, as if they make a whole. How can you sense them?" He runs a hand through his hair.

"I wonder who the unlucky kid was who looked into the Untempered Schism and got a blast full of _that_ ," the Master says sarcastically. "When you threw the crystal into the rift, it would've broadcast it through the raw fabric of time and space. Of course, the signal would latch on to the first mind it came upon that was advanced and...dark enough. And, if I remember correctly, we had spent the night before my initiation burning the deceased body of one of our peers."

The Doctor doesn't know if he should swear or beg for the Master's forgiveness or show some sign of sympathy. He chooses to stare blankly at the wall.

"Yeah," the Master sneers. "You owe me." He looks at the screen and types a few things into the TARDIS. More readings blink across the screen. "Four pieces…scattered across time and space…"

"The Rift didn't destroy it, then," the Doctor says. "We'll need to destroy it if we want to help you."

"And if we want to fix the Time Lock." The Master presses a button and raw data streams across the screen. "Your Dalek friend left a nice crack in the Time Lock. You'll need the key to fix it. Things are leaking out that shouldn't be…time is acting strangely, spreading. All of that time energy, those complicated events and anomalies, enclosed in a leaking container. It might open. Or implode. Or explode. Or just…stop." They each take a moment to stare at each other and imagine the consequences.

"The End of Time," they say in unison.

"Literally, actually, really, it's the End of Time itself. Time…just stopping."

"That would be chaos," the Master adds. He's intrigued and horrified at the idea, all at once, and it feels gloriously wrong.

"Like a ball of yarn, torn apart, then mashed into the shape of a jumper."

"Lovely metaphor, Doctor."

"I was stuck in a universe without Time as we know it, once. Existence alone, without it, was…difficult." The Doctor is scared now, and the Master can tell, because he's scared too. They're both Time Lords. They exist because of Time, for Time, and to command Time. Without it, they are nothing.

"That would be…" the Master searches for a word.

"But it won't," the Doctor starts, "Because all we have to do is find the four segments before Time runs out. A truce."

"You and me?" the Master laughs, "Working together? To find four pieces of a white-point star that are scattered across time and space, reunite them, and fix the time lock, before Time literally runs out?"

"And rid you of your drums," the Doctor says in a low voice. "This is going to be a tricky one."

"You still up for it?" the Master dares him. The Doctor smiles at him wickedly, the Master decides it isn't decent and proper but wonders when he liked decent and proper in the first place.

"Of course."


	3. Poe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have taken some historical liberties to supplement the plot, please excuse any inaccuracies.

"Four signals, four fragments, a portable and intelligent tracker, and a race against Time," the Doctor is spinning around the console with childish glee, twisting a control there, pulling a lever here, and banging his fist on a button. The TARDIS is in mid-flight, speeding through the vortex with some turbulence.

"Intelligent? Thank you," the Master says from the sidelines. The Doctor has become extremely possessive of the TARDIS, so he has resigned to the decrepit foam chair that the Doctor is so fond of. He mutters to himself, "if you can actually pilot us to the right corner of the galaxy."

"I can get us within a couple miles' radius using the TARDIS," the Doctor supplies loudly.

"I could get us even closer," the Master comments to himself. The Doctor ignores him.

"We'll start with the strongest signal, then work our way down from there."

"How are we going to find the fragments, exactly?" the Master asks. "They're quite small, from what you've told me."

"Your drums. They should get stronger when you're in a close range."

"The closer we are, the bigger my headache. Wonderful," the Master rubs his forehead in exasperation. The TARDIS materializes with more noise than usual, then silence. "Where are we?" he asks.

"December of 1942, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, the United States of America," the Doctor says, glancing at the screen. He bolts to the door to poke his head outside. "Ah," his voice echoes. "1842. Same difference."

"Not really. Are you sure it's even Pennsylvania? Why does it always have to be Earth?" the Master mutters, crossing his arms and taking a few strides to peek out the door. The Doctor pushes it shut. He groans. "You're going to make us play dress-up, aren't you?"

"I thought you always dressed for the occasion?" the Doctor says cheerily, tugging him along to the wardrobe by his elbow.

"I just changed," the Master complains, but, ten minutes later, they're dressed in their best Victorian gear. The Doctor has to remind the Master several times that they're trying to blend in. The Master reminds the Doctor that he _never_ blends in.

The both exit the TARDIS looking very much like respectable gentlemen, in crisp white shirts, neckties, waistcoats, frock coats, hats, and shiny black shoes. The Doctor is wearing a ridiculous sort of overcoat and deerstalker, and the Master has been allowed to carry a walking stick on the grounds that he doesn't hit anyone with it.

"You look like Sherlock Holmes," the Master snorts. The Doctor grins. "You know, he didn't specifically wear -"

"Thank you!" he interrupts cheerily, as the Master rolls his eyes. "Any idea where we're heading?"

"Reichenbach Falls?" the Master grumbles, whipping the hat from the Doctor's head and replacing it with a top hat. He shoves the offending item into his pocket, then continues over the Doctor's protests, "Shall we aimlessly amble through the streets until I begin to hear things?"

"Yes," the Doctor groans, reluctantly straightening his hat.

They roam the snowy cobblestone streets for an hour, and the Master doesn't notice anything strange. Not that he even knows what he's looking and listening for.

"I'm not a tracker!" he exclaims suddenly, after he loses feeling in his fingertips. "I'm cold, I'm wet, it's getting dark, and this is one of the worst ideas you've ever had."

"You're still here," the Doctor says quietly. A few people have turned to stare at their argument in the dusk. Snow begins to fall.

"We both know that from the moment I stepped into the TARDIS, you were never going to let me go," the Master says, "because of your sick need for-" A scream interrupts his outburst and they both look up.

"That'll be us!" the Doctor says, grabbing the Master's hand to pull him down a shadowy alleyway towards the source of the screams.

The Master snaps his hand away from the Doctor's, and they run in a dash of flying coats and loud footsteps. They finally reach another dark alleyway, to find a young woman screeching and pointing. They follow her gesture to the pool of shadows at the other end of the alleyway. For a moment, they stare in a chilly silence; the only sound is the faint static that snowfall brings. Then, a metallic clicking, whirring, and hissing assaults their ears.

The woman seems too afraid to scream anymore, and feebly points at the thing in the shadows. The Doctor takes pity on her and steps closer, urging her to run. The Master is watching the shadows closely, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. The source of the woman's terror steps from the shadows into the lamplight.

At first glance, it appears to be a large bird, but at second glance, it's clear that it's a machine. The robotic black bird is consisted of gears and pipes, crushed together into the form of a raven. Every movement is loud, every step on its thin, clawed feet clumsy. It looks as if it could fall over and disintegrate at any moment, but it is strangely steady.

"What is that?" the Doctor asks. He begins to lead the woman slowly and carefully away, to where the Master is standing, awestruck.

"How should I know?" the Master throws his hands up in the air.

"You're the expert on robots," the Doctor says, panicking.

"I wouldn't say expert! How are we going to disable it, Mr. No-Weapons?"

"We don't know if it intends to harm us," the Doctor counters.

"Of course, you always have to ask questions first and shoot later. It's a wonder you're still alive."

The robot has scuffled towards them in their bickering; it's surprisingly fast and lifelike for its weight and structure. The strange bird stops and opens its beak. It shocks them both to hear a metallic voice issue from the innards of the machine.

"You...are...witnesses..." It sounds strange, snatches of sounds strung together to create speech. The Doctor thinks he hears his own voice in there somewhere. The machine pauses before jolting into life, steaming, and whirring loudly. "You...will...forget..."

"Forget?" the Doctor says. All too late, he realizes what it means. A flash of bright light illuminates the shadows momentarily, and then they all pass out onto the cold, snowy ground.

* * *

They wake up to an empty, snowy alleyway. It has been nearly two minutes, the Doctor feels it in his bones, and he stands up quickly and whirls around the alley. The Master groans and gets to his feet.

"That went well," he says wryly.

"Well?" the Doctor repeats, pauses, and then sticks his tongue out to taste the air. The Master opens his mouth to say something and then closes it. "Simple memory wipe, calibrated for humans. Didn't work on us, but the knock-out beam did." He looks at the snow in a decidedly distracted manner and sticks his tongue out again to catch a snowflake.

"What are you doing?" the Master says, hiding a smile.

"Catching snowflakes on my tongue. It's fun!" he says, taking a quick step forward to catch another. The Master gives him a look.

"I never eat December snowflakes. I always wait until January," he says steadily in reply. The Doctor breaks into a laugh and stumbles through the alley, trying to catch more snowflakes on his tongue. He bumps into something then looks down, the smile dying from his face.

"Oh, no, no, no!" he says quietly, kneeling down to check on the woman. "How could I have forgotten about her? Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He's feeling useless and thoughtless, the Master knows that look on his face. He kneels beside the Doctor.

"It knocked her out, too. She might be dead. Maybe hypothermia. She might not even remember anything for awhile. They'll think her insane. She'll die a cold, lonely death." The Doctor spares a moment to glare at him. "Anyways, that wasn't a total waste of time, I think I know where the fragment is," he says in a conversational tone. The Doctor glances up at him for a moment before returning his attentions to the young woman, trying to bring her back to consciousness. He clears his throat, tapping his walking stick impatiently against the ground. The Doctor lifts the woman in his arms.

"We need to get her back home. She must live around here somewhere."

"Doctor, I know where the fragment is," the Master says, annoyed now.

"That's not our priority right now," the Doctor says, looking from the end of the alleyway to the houses beyond.

"The fragments should be our highest priority!" the Master says dangerously. "They're the only reason I came with you on your stupid-"

"Stupid? I asked you for-"

"-Just a pathetic attempt to get-"

"-Not just us, the rest of the universe is important-"

"-Invading my personal space and-"

"-Act like you're the innocent-"

"VIRGINIA!" a loud, deep voice echoes down the alleyway. The Doctor and Master are glaring at each other, each surprised that they let their tempers lead them to a shouting row, but they turn their attentions to the voice. A man runs towards them, still shouting what they assume is the woman's name. He's dressed in clothes similar to their own, but his are worn and dingy, with patches and years of wear and tear. The man himself is a little shorter than the Master, the Doctor towers over them both and seems larger than life with the tiny woman in his arms. The man rushes to the Doctor and he hands her over quickly. He notices that the man smells of alcohol, but ignores it. Soon, she's being fussed over in his arms as he murmurs to her, attempting to bring her back into consciousness. The Doctor observes him for a moment, waiting for questions, when his eyes widen in realization.

The man's skin is almost unnaturally pale, like the woman's. His hair is dark, like his eyes and the deep bags underneath. His face seems slightly lopsided, not aided by the thinning hair on his head or his bushy, uneven eyebrows. He looks from the Doctor to the Master, and says, "Where did you find her?"

"She was lying on the ground," the Doctor answers quickly, accustomed to inventing stories, "as if she had fainted." The man nods and looks to her again. "We were attempting to find where she lived, I am a Doctor..." he trails off with an uncertain glance to the Master, who is staring at the man with a look of interest.

"A doctor? Will you accompany me back to my home and assist me in awaking her? My wife, sir, is not in good health; I am afraid that the winter is not kind to her."

"Of course," the Doctor answers, and the man hurries before him and the Master, towards a beaten up house at the end of the row. The Doctor falls behind, looking to the Master. "Do not hurt these people," he warns. "Master, I know exactly what you're thinking, we're taking a detour, but if you lay a finger on either of them-"

"I won't," the Master cuts him off, "he's important."

"Of course he's important," the Doctor says exasperatedly, "he's-"

"No, I mean, he's connected. He's been in some sort of psychic contact with the fragment. It's doing my head in just looking at him." The Doctor looks at the back of the man's head thoughtfully.

"This should be interesting," he says, and then hurries after the man as he leads them into his small, dilapidated house.

* * *

The house isn't big, well-furnished, or even warm. It is the picture of destitution. The walls are covered in dingy wallpaper that might have looked pleasant once; the floorboards creak and moan underfoot. The man sets the raven haired woman on the sofa. The Master eyes the furniture with disgust before he plops down on a striped love seat. While the house is not fancy, it is well cared for. The floors and furniture are clean, and the place only wants for more light and warmth. The Doctor kneels on the floor next to the woman, examining her carefully.

"Can you help her, Doctor...?" the man trails off in request for a name, like so many do.

"Just the Doctor," the Doctor replies, as always. "That's Mr.-"

"You can call me the Master," he smiles disarmingly. The Doctor gives him a look, and the Master gives him another; they'll have a talk about who gets to use what alias later.

"Edgar Poe," the man says quickly. "This is my wife, Virginia." The Master's eyes light up as he recognizes the name.

"Edgar _Allan_ Poe?" he asks.

"Why, yes, it was my adopted family's name."

"Brilliant!" the Doctor interjects, getting the Master's attention. He nods, and the Master takes his cue to distract him as the Doctor pulls out his sonic screwdriver to quietly scan Virginia.

"The writer?" the Master asks innocently.

"Yes, I'm assuming you've read one of my publications? Perhaps in the newspaper?" He claps his hands together, pleased for a brief moment.

"Yes," the Master says quickly, "Mr. Poe-"

"Please, call me Edgar."

"Edgar," the Master smiles, the perfect picture of charming. "I was wondering, have you thought of writing anything about bells or, say, _drums_ lately?"

"Drums? I don't see why-"

"Ed?" a small voice pipes from the sofa. Edgar turns instantly to his wife, rushing to her side. The Doctor backs away.

"Sissy? How are you feeling?"

"Much better," she replies, "what happened? Did I faint out there on the street?" He fusses over her or awhile, and the Doctor walks around the couple to sit next to the Master.

"Are you getting anything?" the Doctor asks.

"I'm not a radio," the Master protests. "The robot, back there, seemed to broadcast the signal. My head felt like it was going to burst," he shivers. "When we woke up, it was back to normal…but when he appeared, they rose a little in volume. They're louder than normal."

"You think he's connected?" the Doctor asks.

"We'll have to stick with him," the Master groans.

"How are we going to-?"

CRASH!

Something crashes through the window of the house, knocking glass and wood splinters everywhere. Virginia and Edgar jump to their feet in shock. The Doctor instantly pulls out his sonic screwdriver.

It's a giant robotic cat, like the bird in the alleyway. It looks like it's made out of clockwork pieces, only now crushed into the form of a five foot tall cat. With every step of its nimble paws, some sort of hydraulics hiss and whirr. It scratches at the floor with its large paws, shredding the carpet with razor-sharp claws. It even moves like a cat, homing in on its prey, sizing them up. It makes a hissing noise at the sonic screwdriver, which lights up the now dark room with bluish light.

"Get out!" the Doctor yells to them, motioning towards the back door. Without looking to see if they're still frozen in shock or not (the Master doesn't even think to usher them out and flee himself, as the Doctor's companion usually would, and instead he's standing in awe of the intricate technology), he says, quietly, purring to the beast, "What are you?" The sonic fades, the buzzing beginning to sound muffled. "Oh, no, don't do that," he whispers, knocking the screwdriver against his hand.

It turns its massive head to intimidate them. It has antennas for whiskers, and empty, black spaces where eyes should be.

"What are you doing here? What do you want? Why don't you like my sonic?" he says, as if he was talking to a real cat. "Master," he whispers, "what is it?"

"Don't have a clue!" he smiles. "Although, it's a work of art. Beautiful," he says.

"There's a whole universe out there and you think a deadly robot cat is beautiful?"

"Well, once you've been -"

The cat's mouth opens and it bares sharp, polished teeth at them.

"Excuse me, sirs, but is this the time?" Edgar shouts at them, grabbing their arms and wrenching them away from the monster. "I believe it is time for our wily escape!" he exclaims, and they run from the house together.


	4. The Black Cat

Outside, a few cold streets down, they stop to catch their breath. The Doctor is exhilarated, curious, and can't wait for more. The Master, although he would never admit it, is beginning to like the Doctor's lifestyle. Virginia is holding back tears and panic. Edgar, on the other hand, is the cheeriest of them all. The Doctor wonders if it's the right Edgar Allan Poe.

"Are you alright?" the Doctor asks them both. Virginia takes turns shaking her head yes and no; on the other hand, her husband vigorously asserts his condition.

"That was brilliant! A giant, mechanical, black cat! With paws like razor blades and iron insides darker than the night! Wonderful! I wonder how it works."

"You seem...pleased," the Doctor struggles for the correct words.

"Of course. I have seen creatures like these nearly every day for the past week. They plague my mind, my dreams, for they simply walk past me, keeping a safe distance, and disappear into the shadows. I have seen them chase after a homeless urchin and tear him open alive," he seems entranced with the memory of ripped flesh; it triggers disgust in the Doctor and admiration in the Master. "But they ignore me every time, Doctor. Taunting me with their empty eyes, something I will never understand."

"Have you told anyone?" the Doctor asks.

"Virginia, a few close confidants. They believe me drunk!" he says with outrage. Virginia looks as if she believes him now. The Master sniffs quietly, using his sharp senses, and catches a whiff of alcohol about the man. "But you can see it too!"

"How comforting," the Doctor says uncertainly.

"There is no better remedy for a troubled mind than knowing you are not mad," Edgar says, smiling in spite of himself. Virginia is looking up at him with some sort of admiration on her face, the shock slowly melting away after observing the bravery of her husband. The Master nods in agreement, in spite of himself. He's starting to like this man. He's dark and broody, a genius, and thinks he's mad. The Doctor looks from one to the other, thinking this, and struggles to come up with words appropriate for this moment. It's strange, how being so close to a wordsmith always seems to take the words right out of him.

"How did it start?" the Master prompts him.

"Ah, I was on my way back from...business," Virginia gives him a look of disapproval; it's not hard to guess what this 'business' was. "When I saw a strange light down an alleyway, by a church. I was drawn to it, and found a strange stone, like ice in my hand."

The Doctor and Master look to each other.

"What was it like?" the Master urges. Edgar puts a hand to his head.

"Like fire and water, the overwhelming ringing of bells and beating of drums in my head. I dropped it, as if burnt, and ran home."

"Since then, you've seen the cat?" the Doctor asks.

"Nearly a week later, I first saw a cat like the one we faced, except smaller. It seems to have grown," Edgar says, and then shakes his head, as if to shake the ridiculous thought out of it. "And then, a raven, terrible haunting cherubs, twinkling metal scarabs that scuttled nearly a foot from my feet...I can't make sense of it."

"Those animals?" the Master asks, "all built out of the same machinery as the cat that we saw?" Edgar nods enthusiastically.

"All deadly beasts, I can assure you!"

"It's some sort of signal," the Master turns to the Doctor. "Think of it. What possibly could give out a signal so strong that it would control them to that level? That they could have low level scans and short term memory wipes? Those robots, the machinery! It's not _just_ in perfect working order; it's a work of art! Beautiful, nearly sentient, low-level psychopathic wonders! It has to be-"

"The fragment," the Doctor says breathlessly, the beginnings of a smile of his face. "That's what was blocking the sonic! And it would have to be a good distance above these houses, and radio signals won't be around for years-"

"45 years," the Master adds. The Doctor is delighted and a little proud that he knows that.

"Which only leaves whatever church you found the light by-?"

Edgar points to the church steeple a few blocks behind them, the Time Lords turn to look.

"And that would be our steeple!" the Doctor says happily.

"It'll be in the bell tower," the Master adds, "sending off the signal for their little soldiers, to follow whatever directions they broadcast, whatever they're doing here in the first place." He grins before he can stop himself. The Doctor has a small smile on his own face when he watches the Master come to the conclusion no better than he could have.

"And what about us?" Edgar asks. His coat is draped around Virginia's small frame. "We can't go back to our house, it's in ruins."

"You'll have to go back eventually," the Doctor says apologetically. "It's not safe. That crystal...you were the first person to touch it. It imprinted on you. Whatever found it was influenced by your ideas, your mind."

"The cat...came from my mind?"

"In a word..." the Master trails off, looking at the sky. The Doctor looks up as well, catching the train of thought that he had instantly dismissed.

"We have to hurry. It's nearly morning, people will be about."

"Already?" the man says.

"I don't want anyone to get hurt," the Doctor says seriously. "You are Virginia need to go back. Clean up, order new windows, and get some rest. After tonight, you'll never see anything like this again. The Master and I have got it covered." Virginia doesn't look assured, and Edgar opens his mouth to protest.

"It's no good," the Master says, "he values your bravery, but doesn't want to risk your neck. You're important. I wish it was the same for me."

"Important?" Edgar smirks, considering.

"Yes, and, we're going now," the Doctor turns, grabbing the Master's arm and leading him towards the church. "It was lovely meeting you, it really was, but we've got an appointment..." he's trying the disarming approach now, the Master notices, and they turn around a corner without much grace.

The Doctor drops his friendly pretense and the Master's arm all at once. The Master notices the change almost immediately.

"What is it?" he asks curiously, before mentally kicking himself for giving the appearance of caring.

"I don't know. I've run into a good number of clockwork aliens in my time. Met some clockwork cats from Katuria once, sent as a sort of guard for this Shade Vassily guy, you would've liked-"

"No, don't do that rambling picture of innocence thing, I know something's wrong," the Master stops in the middle of the dark street and crosses his arms. "One moment, you seemed so pleased that I was acting your pet, the next you act like you don't want to be here. You're the one that wanted to save everyone. What am I doing here with you?" He spits the last sentence with disgust for them both, but mostly himself.

The Doctor sighs, taking great care to avoid the Master's eyes. He isn't sure what he meant by help in the first place, he had never taken time to think that through. The last thing he had predicted was what he had asked for in the first place. He needs the Master's help, that's for certain. But will he really help him? Should he leave him back on Earth? Lock him up in the TARDIS? He thinks of the prophecy, the four knocks, and his eminent death. Did they mean the Master? The Doctor doesn't want to be alone, doesn't want to die alone, but he doesn't want to travel with a human, because they can't possibly understand.

All of this runs through his head and he can't properly look at the Master, can't even look him in the eye because he's known him so long that something like understanding might pass between the two.

Neither of them wants to be alone, which is the only other alternative that they have. Because, if the Master leaves the Doctor he'll just end up chasing after him again, and if the Doctor leaves the Master his conscience and his hearts won't let him carry on happily again.

The Doctor takes a deep, deep breath, storing the air in his lungs like the nerve and bravery he so desperately wants right now, and slowly lifts a hand, which he sets on the Master's shoulder. It's a simple gesture, a far too kind one. The Master wants to shrug him off with a sneer and crush his hopes, because he thinks the Doctor is going to say something, say one of those things that makes him run or hide, or dooms him to another death and another flight. Traveling with the Doctor is everything that he's ever imagined it to be, and a little bit more than he bargained for. It makes him feel almost vulnerable.

The Doctor opens his mouth to speak, but the Master turns his head at the sound of a mechanical whirring in the distance. The Doctor looks too, spots the cat slinking down the street. Their heads snap back, conveying an escape plan in a single glance. The Doctor looks around and unthinkingly takes the Master's hand, pulling him into a gap between two closely placed walls, hiding them from the cat. It moves slowly down the street, making the hissing and clinking noises that it did before as it slinks along.

The Master flattens his back against the wall. There's a rubbish bin preventing them from going any further than a foot or two into the gap, and they have no choice but to stand chest to chest in the cramped space. The Doctor swallows dryly, half of his mind extremely worried about the robot cat, the other half preoccupied with awkwardness at their close quarters and another kind of worry and fear.

They're both aware of how loud their breathing is; filled with adrenalin and excitement. Their clothes rub against each other, no matter how hard they try to stay away from each other. Their rustling, their breathing, their double heartbeat all seem so loud, so obvious, they both expect razor sharp claws to shred them to pieces any moment. The Master feels claustrophobic, he throws out his right arm, and with no where to put it, places his hand splayed out upon the brickwork, right next to the Doctor's shoulder. It's in the way of the alleyway, somewhere between a protecting shield and a confining wall. The Doctor feels cornered, scared and even more claustrophobic than the Master. It's a small victory, a sense of power to feel another type of panic in the Doctor.

The Master leans his head up against the bricks and laughs, silently, insanely, his breath steaming like a chimney in the cold December air. The Doctor watches him, entranced, staring at his Adam's apple, bobbing on his neck. He chews the inside of his lip, knots of stress tie up his stomach. The Master's arm is a wall, his body another, they flatten him against the bricks until he's tiny, frozen in place, and he barely dares to breathe.

It seems like an eternity passes, maybe two (they're Time Lords, they live between seconds) before the cat disappears down the street, presumably into the church. The Doctor breathes a sigh of relief, and it's like a maelstrom of noise after the complete silence of the winter night. The Master hesitates before letting his arm hang down. The Doctor is too proud to let him know how frightening and overwhelming the Master was just then, he leans against the wall and pants, panicking a little. He never panics like this.

"Doctor," the Master says, a little quieter than normal, his voice highly amused. "You can let go, now." He realizes with a jolt that he had never let go of the Master's left hand and had been squeezing it with his right. He drops it like its scalding and nearly jumps from their hiding place, mumbling "Sorry! I just-I'm sorry."

The Master bites his cheek to hide his smile and they continue quietly down the slowly lightening road, the Doctor trying to find the least personal and awkward way to walk beside the Master.

* * *

The church is dark and empty, maybe even abandoned. It's hard to tell in the shadows, even when the Doctor pulls a match (everlasting, of course) out of his pocket and lights it. Their footsteps echo and raise dust all around them, dust that tastes of grease and metal to them, not skin and hair. The Master opens his mouth to speak, but the Doctor raises a finger in the air to shush him. He frowns and complies.

They can both hear a faint whirring, something slightly above the highest pitch of human hearing. It's like a whining to the Doctor, like when the TV is left on mute, but it sounds like the drums, increased again, to the Master. They're loud, and they hurt, more than usual. Each beat is agony against his skull, and makes him feel dizzy and tormented in the surrounding silence. He clutches at his ears, even though he knows it won't help. The Doctor watches him out of the corner of the eye, pitying him, but doesn't say a word. He knows the Master won't appreciate his sympathy. He's also waiting for the mechanical cat to pounce on them from the dark at any moment.

Nothing happens, however, even when they've crossed the sanctuary and the Doctor has found a spiral staircase. The bell tower. The door opens without a sound, which the Doctor thinks is some kind of blessing until he realizes that it only means that the door is well oiled and used, unlike the rest of the undisturbed chapel.

The Master doesn't want to go on because the drumming in his head is getting louder and louder, but he follows the Doctor faithfully, gritting his teeth as they ascend the spiral staircase. They both wince at the first step, still anticipating the pounce of clockwork beasts. It's a long trip up the bell tower, and the staircase is old and narrow.

They reach the top of the staircase, panting only slightly when they stand on the cramped landing. Only a rusty iron door blocks their path. The Doctor softly lays his hand on the cold, crusty handle, looking at the Master with the quirk of a smile on the edges of his mouth.

"Ready?" he whispers. The Master licks his lips and nods his head, beginning to feel claustrophobic, crammed into the Doctor on the small step. Heat rushes into his blood as he anticipates the unknown behind the door. They both inhale sharply when the Doctor swings open the door to the bell tower theatrically, expecting a pouncing cat.

For a moment, there's nothing but their breath, steaming up into the dawn. They both spot the crystal fragment instantly, hanging from the noiselessly swinging clapper of the bell, not making a sound. They glance to each other, excitement and joy rushing through them both. The Master lunges towards the crystal without a second thought, drawn toward it, even though it sends pain through his entire body. It's agony, but glorious, victorious agony. He grins and tries to catch the clapper in his hands.

Then, something crashes onto the Doctor. The Master hears the Doctor's shout and a crash and turns, yells his name, and wishes he would have been allowed a weapon. The Doctor is thrown to the floor violently, the air knocked out of his lungs, and his head hits the floor, hard, knocking him out. The black robot cat is standing on the Doctor's chest, looking just as strangely light and agile as a real cat, although it's obviously heavy. The Master moves forward, yelling to the inanimate Doctor to see if he's alright. Of course, he isn't. The cat makes a noise that can only described as a howl before it jumps from the Doctor's chest and away from the Master.

He kneels next to the body of the unconscious Doctor to check his pulse. He's alright, the Master realizes with embarrassing relief. He pauses, checks that the Doctor is truly unconscious, and runs a hand over his chest, smoothing the wrinkles in his coat. He deftly pokes his fingers into his inside pockets, extremely aware of the heartbeats, the rising, warm, chest underneath his hands as he searches for anything that isn't a jelly baby. He pauses, looks at the Doctor's peaceful, sleeping face. He hasn't seen such a relaxed expression on his face in a long time. His own presence has always prevented that. He stares openly for a long, rare moment, then reaches out, his fingertips lingering millimeters from the Doctor's face. For a moment, this view belongs to him. His knuckles brush the Doctor's cheek, and it's surprisingly rough with some stubble. He realizes what he's doing and jerks away, jumps to his feet.

The cat is still there, ignoring the Master and focusing intently (as intently as a robot can) on the Doctor. It appears to be sniffing him, but the Master knows that it is simply scanning the Doctor. Only, what for? After a moment of feeling ridiculous, he opens his mouth to speak to the cat. Lots of people talk to cats, he reasons. And he kind of was one, once.

"You're scanning him," he starts. "What for? What about me?" The cat ignores him. "Poe and I…why are we special?" It's insane, he realizes, talking to this cat. It's as if he isn't even there. "Oh," he blinks. "I'm not."

The cat continues to scan the Doctor.

"I'm invisible. The beat is some sort of psychic code that keeps you together, or controls you, or something, you don't even notice it. My psychic field transmits the drums at a low level…you can't even tell I'm here. Which means," he grins wildly, then begins to slap his hands against his thighs, concentration on the beat of the very loud drums inside of his head.

 _one-two-three-four_

 _one-two-three-four_

 _one-two-three-four_

 _one-two-three-four_

"You will obey me," he says, psychically reaching out to the cat as he speaks. Its head snaps to him suddenly, and he smiles in triumph, trying not to break his concentration as he stops tapping and concentrates on the cat. "Answer all of my questions," he commands. The cat stares at him unnervingly.

"Okay, first," he says, "you're giving off an organic psychic field, and you're a robot. Nothing but cogs and odds and ends. Completely mechanical, but you are intelligent and sentient. What are you?"

The cat just looks at him before answering.

"I am I.R.O.N. 3/E.5 of the United Illuvoed Embassy." The Master takes a second to absorb this.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he admits. The cat says nothing. "Alright," he takes a deep breath, unsure of what to ask. This is more of the Doctor's thing than his. "Do you have a spaceship?"

"Our spacecraft crashed," it replies. He makes a face, it's a dead end.

"Do you have any weapons?" he asks next. The cat's razor sharp claws unsheathe, making a sharp, metallic noise. He winces.

"Yes."

"What are you doing here?"

"Our spacecraft crashed," it repeats. The Master opens his mouth to ask another, more specific question, but it continues. "We are rebuilding the spacecraft so that we may return to our fleet."

"What happened to the crew? Are _you_ the crew? Are you just a…repair droid? How are you going to repair your spacecraft, you're in primitive America…on _Earth_?" The cat makes an audible whirring noise as it processes his questions.

"The crew was assimilated. I am the crew. I am not the crew. I make repairs. I will find resources" The Master is about to ask another question when it sinks in.

"You are the crew, but you aren't?" He asks. The cat begins to answer his rhetorical question, but he continues, "But how can you be…ah. Assimilated. I'm guessing that's how you got your psychic field. Assimilated their minds because their bodies were broken. I don't know what kind of physical shape they had, but their minds could almost be bonded together…How did you come to be?"

"I bonded when their psychic consciousnesses assimilated-"

"Using the already existing field of the crystal fragment, bonded to the mind of a genius, to gather together spare parts of the spacecraft and build yourself so you could fix the ship. Brilliant. They must have had some sort of pre-existing psychic communication." He pauses, the silence barely registered beyond the drumming in his head. "I'm talking to a cat," he realizes, feeling idiotic. He's turning into the Doctor. "But that's not enough. Their minds are hardly captured, the knowledge of fixing the spacecraft...How are you going to know what to do?" The cat's head jerks to the side.

"We will use you." The Master feels a sinking feeling in his stomach. "You carry the signal. You are compatible."

"Oh, no, no, no," he says, backing away as the cat advances, "you sound far too much like the Cybermen." He begins to panic. "What about the Doctor?" he asks.

"We will kill him," the cat answers simply. The Master's eyes turn dark and he advances on the cat instead, fury radiating from him.

"No one kills the Doctor," he says, stepping over the Doctor and snarling, "No one hurts the Doctor. No one lays a finger on him," he pauses, "except me." He pulls his hand from behind his back and points the Doctor's sonic screwdriver at the bell, with the fragment swinging on the clapper, broadcasting the signal. The cat makes a horrible screeching noise. He's vaguely aware of the Doctor jumping to his feet behind him, and he kicks the cat, hard, the heavy gears and parts of the robot smash over the railing of the tower to the street below. The Doctor runs to the bell and removes the crystal fragment from the end of the clapper, holds it up to the light.

They stare at it, heaving with effort of the sudden struggle, and the sun breaks over the horizon. The rays reflect off of the snow and the city, streak the foggy sky with peach and plum colors. The light refracts through the strangely cut fragment, reflecting rainbows on the ceiling, onto their clothes and the bell and the floor, every color known to man and one or two known only to Time Lords. The Doctor is completely enamored with the sight, and the Master hates him for a moment. He's so predictable, so easily amused or inspired. It's the last piece of Gallifrey that isn't already the Doctor's. The Master pauses, rethinks. It's the last _nonliving_ piece of Gallifrey that isn't already the Doctor's. He belongs to no one.

"You're welcome," he says venomously. The corners of the Doctor's mouth turn up slightly as he watches the sun rise.

They both turn as the door bursts open suddenly. A panting Edgar Allan Poe emerges, looking strangely excited and red from running up stairs.

"The cat - pieces, on the street - people crowding - Christmas - you?"

"Calm down," the Doctor urges him. The man takes a few deep breaths before he continues.

"I've never seen anything like it!" he says, his eyes shining, "I escorted Virginia to the house of a friend, and came here as quickly as I could. I was approaching the church when I saw the metal cat, falling from the tower! It smashed on the ground!"

"That was me," the Master interjects proudly.

"Is it gone, then? The mechanical beast? "I believe it was pulverized, but I could not tell. People had begun to gather for early Christmas services, and crowded around it. I did not linger."

"We're pretty high up," the Doctor says. "But you know what they say about cats…"

"They always land on their feet," the Master finishes.

Edgar looks from the Doctor to the Master, oblivious to their concerned glance. The Doctor pushes past Edgar and the Master follows him down the stairs and through the sanctuary to the outdoors. Edgar trails behind, apologizes for being the third to run into the minister, and yells after them to ask about the hurry. The Doctor pushes through the crowd that has gathered outside apologetically. The Master runs head-on into a woman who is coughing violently into a handkerchief, knocking it from her hands.

The Doctor skids to a stop. A pile of nuts, bolts, and cogs is lying scattered in the middle of the street. Some of the people are poking at the pieces of metal, others pointing at the bell tower. The Doctor kneels down and picks at a few pieces gingerly.

"Anything interesting?" the Master asks, looking around at the other people self consciously.

"Nope," the Doctor answers, pulling out his glasses to examine the gears closely. The Master stares. "They're all from this time period, from clocks, watches, anything mechanical. I suppose it could shift its shape into anything from his mind. That reminds me," the Doctor says, looking up, "Where did Mr. Poe go?"

The Master shakes himself out of his thoughts as the Doctor tucks his glasses into a pocket. "Sorry, what?"

"Edgar. Where did he run off too?"

"I don't know," the Master says dismissively, "as if I should know." The Doctor looks around wildly.

"He may experience some ill after-effects." He begins to push through the crowd again, searching for Edgar. The Doctor spots him quickly and runs to him. Edgar looks unsteady on his feet, and is holding a hand to his head.

"It's merely a headache," he dismisses the Doctor's worried face. The Doctor nods.

"You were psychically connected to the robot. It used your ideas. Your head will clear up soon, after it gets used to the isolation," he explains. Edgar doesn't really understand him, but nods anyways. "Let's get you home," he begins to lead the man in the direction that he instructs, but a sharp voice cuts through the chatter.

"Edgar!" Virginia is running towards them, looking worried. She embraces him tightly. "I told you not to run off after them," she scolds.

"And I instructed you to stay with the Wilsons, Sissy. You'll catch cold," he puts a protective arm around Virginia.

"Let's go," she says, looking suspiciously at the Doctor and Master. "Please, aren't you finished with your silly quest? It's Christmas!" she chides.

"Yes, alright. Goodbye, Doctor, Master, it was a pleasure to meet you," he nods at them both, smiling. "May our paths cross again." He's a strange, singular man, lonesome in a way, but he means it.

"Oh, and it was brilliant meeting you," The Doctor grins widely, about to say something corny and mushy and inspiring, but Virginia sneezes loudly.

"Bless you!" the Master says, his voice oozing comfort and sympathy, and offers Virginia a handkerchief.

"Thank you, sir," she smiles back at him. The Doctor's mouth hangs open for a moment, the Master's eyes dart to him for a moment. He steps on the Master's foot and shoots him a stern look; the honeyed smile melts from the Master's face. Virginia, flattered, attempts a sort of curtsy; Edgar tips his hat and they walk away, arm in arm.

"What was that about?" the Master asks, "jealous?" The Doctor rolls his eyes.

"That was awfully kind of you," he says flatly. "Wait…" he turns to stare at the Master. " Where did you get that handkerchief?"

With a sly smile, the Master reveals, "Some poor old dear was coughing quite violently in the crowd. I relived her of it. I don't think she'll need it much longer." His voice is smooth and smug. The Doctor raises his eyebrows in shock, realizing what this means. "I'm only keeping history in check!" the Master laughs.

The Doctor sighs, feeling a little dejected. He chooses not to lecture the Master. It won't make any difference. Virginia's sickness, death, and Poe's consequential misery is essential to the quality of his work. He can't change a thing. He pulls the crystal fragment from his pocket and holds it in his palm.

"One down," he says cheerily.

"Three to go," the Master points out pessimistically.

"To the TARDIS?" The Doctor is trying very hard to contain his disappointment and be happy.

"Only because we've nowhere else to go," the Master answers, with amusement to the Doctor's frustration. He shoves his hands into his pockets and begins to walk in the general direction of the TARDIS, ahead of the Doctor.

The Doctor keeps a slow pace, tilts his head slightly and watches the Master rush a few feet ahead of him, his coattails blowing up in the wind. He still saved him, he thinks, when he could have stolen the TARDIS key and ran back to the TARDIS and ran away. Even have killed him.

But he didn't, and that's why the Doctor smiles and walks beside the Master the rest of the way to the TARDIS. It's Christmas, and it's snowing, but it's neither of those reasons which make the Doctor feel almost properly happy for the first time in a long while.


	5. Toast in the TARDIS

The TARDIS seems empty.

It isn't, of course. It is filled with hundreds of things: rooms, corridors, staircases, elevators, bathrooms, kitchens, a giant library, swimming pool, ballrooms, a wardrobe, and even an armory (recently deadlocked). Mismatched furniture, wallpaper, paint, and carpet cover every inch; the console room is by no means the template anymore. Each hallway is made from the orange-ish coral theme the TARDIS currently has adopted, but each door, each room contains something unique and strangely personal. One room is dedicated to neckwear, one is a sort of DJ box for the entire TARDIS (also recently deadlocked), another showcases a strange collection of oddly shaped jelly babies.

There are trunks underneath the console, alphabetically organized, and strange little odds and ends in every crevice and corner. No closet is empty, no room completely untouched, and the strange lack of dust makes it feel like the many inhabitants that it must contain may be back any moment. Most of the rooms are truly empty, however. They're abandoned, their former occupants lost in time and space. Each room leaves a little of their character behind; an unread book, a collection of hat boxes, or several cans of explosive material hidden underneath the floorboards. So full, yet so empty.

Empty except for two Time Lords, fast asleep in two bedrooms on opposite sides of the TARDIS. They're sleeping with their minds fast shut, so their dreams don't mix. When they were children, they would let their little minds slip together and share dreams. They're very careful to keep them apart now. The Doctor is scared to let the Master see some of his thoughts, and scared of what would happen if he was let inside the Master's mind again. The Master wants to keep himself to himself. He sleeps fitfully; nightmarish flashes of blue artron energy fill his mind's eye. The Doctor doesn't dream. He never sleeps restfully anymore, doesn't allow himself more than a shallow sleep. It's tearing him apart.

The TARDIS ponders all of this in an instant, and dwells on the Doctor's wellbeing for much longer. Something is coming; she can sense it in her very heart. Even the Time Vortex ripples and pulses nervously; rare fizzes of pure time energy pulse through it. She channels the energy across her panels and to the other side of the vortex, protecting her precious cargo. She's agitated again and again but attempts to keep a smooth course, as not to awake the Doctor. The Time Vortex hasn't been the same without the Time Lords to manage it. It seems smaller, jumbled around, and extremely dangerous. This is different. Something is coming.

A particularly harsh shot of energy jolts at her like lightening, causing the TARDIS to jolt suddenly and nearly wake the Doctor from his light slumber. She feels a shudder wrack through her, a creak in a sea ship. The Master stirs. He sits up suddenly, feeling her distress, and sleepily sets a hand on the wall to sense her mood. He pulls it away almost instantly; a dull numbness spreads through his nerves. She's lightly shocked him. The TARDIS still doesn't like him. No longer caring if anything is wrong with her, he lies back down on his bed and attempts to sleep. He can't.

He strings together a few curses in different languages, and sits up again, swings his legs over the side of the bed, and rubs the sleep out of his watery eyes. He's only been asleep for a few hours, but it's enough. He misses oversleeping on the Valiant; eight hours or more. The nightmares weren't worse than the reality, though, that had been dull. He feels the captive now, even though the Doctor seems to trust him, oddly. But he doesn't want to think about the Doctor now, even though he's in his TARDIS and hasn't even tried to kill him yet. Maybe if he was a captive it would be different. This, this strange, awkward stalemate, it's almost worse than being a prisoner. He doesn't know where they stand or what to do.

Waiting for him in the small bedroom's wardrobe is what he assumes the TARDIS has graciously chosen for him - a black suit. Its style and brand is more to the Doctor's preference than his, but he doesn't feel like rooting around in the TARDIS wardrobe for a different cut. It fits (albeit a little more tightly, though he isn't one to complain about the Doctor's penchant for tight suits), and he decides to search for a kitchen. He isn't afraid of running into the Doctor, as he should still be asleep, and hums a little bit while he searches the hallways. He even stops by the wardrobe to steal the Doctor's black Converse trainers again.

Finally, he finds something that vaguely resembles a kitchen (although he can't find anything in it - it takes him 20 minutes to find the overly complicated toaster, in a locked cupboard). He fiddles with the settings on the toaster and pops a few pieces of bread into it. With a satisfied smile, he turns to the stove to turn on the kettle, then leans against the counter and taps on it absentmindedly, waiting for his breakfast. He doesn't like cooking his own meals, and the Doctor has too many different kinds of marmalade.

The Master hears a small noise from outside the kitchen and catches a flash of white trainer out of the corner of his eye. He sighs, rolls his eyes, and announces loudly, "I know you're out there." The Doctor melts out of the shadows of the hallway and hovers awkwardly in the door frame. He stares into a sort of middle space, refusing to look the Master in the eye. His hair is disheveled, his tie missing, and his shirt isn't buttoned up properly. The Master tries not to stare. He looks as if he's just stepped out of a dream.

"You're still here," he says in a low voice.

"Yes, I am. Thank you, Captain Obvious," the Master says sarcastically.

"You hate me," the Doctor continues. Is he sleepwalking? Does he think he's still dreaming? Or has he gone insane and is reading off of a mental list? He probably is, the Master notes. He watches the Doctor's Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows. The Master can hardly read the Doctor's body language or tone, no matter how hard he scrutinizes him.

"Keep going," he nods, plucking on the Doctor's battered nerves. It's obvious he's been unable to sleep for even a half hour, and has spent the last few trying to get the nerve to say something. Worry has been eating away at him.

"You are willingly saving the universe with someone you absolutely hate-"

"In order to rid myself of the constant drumming noise that has plagued me for nearly a thousand years, yes," the Master finishes for him. "Honestly, you've gotten thick in your old age."

"I'm just trying to make sense of it," the Doctor continues suspiciously. "You died to avoid traveling with me. I never expected you to say yes, as much as I - What changed?"

"You know, I really don't want to talk about this right now. I'm hungry." The Master turns back to the toaster, tapping absently on the counter.

"Master -"

"Not now."

"Then when? We have to talk about it sometime," the Doctor protests. He stares at the Master with pleading in his eyes.

"No, we don't!"

"But why-"

"You really want to have this conversation, don't you…?" He propels himself away from the counter and crosses his arms tightly, glaring in response to the Doctor's searching look. I died," the Master says, sighing. He takes a deep breath and rubs his temples; like that will make the Doctor disappear. "I died, and I never stopped dying. Being your prisoner, that would have been like dying. But now, _now_ , you're treating me like your equal." He grins, a little too widely, even though he's so good at lying.

"But after we get rid of them…how could I let you loose on the Universe?"

"Oh, like you won't. You've run out of steam. You said you were going to die. That body is _bored_ to death, not exhausted of life," he nods his head at the Doctor like he's just a spirit floating in a vessel and smiles a little at the Doctor's facial reaction. There are certain ways that they were taught to speak in polite society, and it's one of the only things that the Doctor would take offensively. He licks his lips as if he can taste the Doctor's delicious defiance, and says, "You need someone to excite you."

The Doctor just stares at him. The Master stares back, watches the response cogitate in his eyes. Their emotions simmer and steam up inside so that both of them feel close to the breaking point with passionate rage at the other. The Doctor takes a step forward, finally ready to respond, his mouth open as if to shout something -

And is smacked in the face with a piece of severely burnt toast.

"What the hell?" the Master yells. They both turn to see the toaster shoot another piece of toast at the Master. The toaster is not a normal toaster, it is larger and has half a dozen slots and four times as many buttons, as well as wheels. "Why is your toaster attacking us?" the Master shouts at the Doctor in indignation.

"It's…slightly sentient," the Doctor shrugs and fishes around in his pockets for his sonic screwdriver. He can't find it and becomes slightly frantic, yelling, "Oh, no, no, no, no!" and glancing worriedly at the toaster. "It gets angry when you let your toast burn," the Doctor explains. Another piece of toast flies out of it and them both duck. Angry black smoke begins to pour from the toaster now, which is suddenly making an awful racket for such a small appliance.

"Can't you have a normal toaster? Who are you, Jimmy Neutron?"

"I do have a normal toaster! In the drawer, there's a knife that toasts bread as you cut it," the Doctor looks almost proud that he owns such an object, and the Master laughs at him. He ducks as the last of the Master's breakfast is flung at them. The toaster makes another rattling noise and they see the insides heat up quickly, causing even more smoke that clashes horribly with the pleasantly blue paint. Any moment now, it's going to catch on fire.

The Doctor dives to a drawer and rummages through the various kitchen implements within. The Master just watches him with an amused look on his face.

"What, aren't you going to help?" the Doctor says frustrated. He grabs a rolling pin and holds it like a baseball bat. It looks ridiculous, and the Master bursts into laughter, darts forward, and unplugs the smoking toaster from the wall.

The Doctor stares at him, speechless, and stutters, "W-why didn't you do that before?"

"I wanted to see what you would do," he laughs, gesturing to the rolling pin that the Doctor is still holding in the air halfheartedly. The Doctor drops it back into the drawer. He gingerly picks up the toaster and puts it back into the cupboard where the Master found it, just in case. The Master produces the Doctor's sonic screwdriver and locks the door for good measure.

"Where did you get that?" the Doctor is even further set off guard and the Master just smirks at him, flipping the sonic in his hand a few times, like a baton.

"I wondered how long it would take you," he says bemusedly, "And if you'd instantly suspect me." The Doctor holds out an expectant hand for the screwdriver. Grinning, the Master examines it closely. "Mine was bigger and -"

"Master, can I have that back?" the Doctor says through gritted teeth.

"I wish I could save these moments forever," he says with exaggerated happiness on his face. "First, you were brandishing a rolling pin, looking like you hate something more than me, and now you are pouting over your sonic. Brilliant." The Doctor sighs.

"I don't hate you," he groans, "Can I have my sonic back? Please, Master?"

"Oh, it's okay to admit it. I took your sonic screwdriver," he taunts, "don't you want to know where I found it?" Some of the glory is slipping away from him like the grin from his face. The Master crosses his arms and sighs. "What is it?" he nearly spits. There's always something.

"I don't hate you," the Doctor replies softly. The Master crosses his arms defensively, the sonic screwdriver still in hand. "I hate what you do, but I can't hate you." He is boldly looking at the Master this time.

"Yeah," the Master scoffs lightly. "Right." His throat feels thick; the words that he spits out are only part of the compressed disgust he feels. "You like me so much you've been content to sit around and watch me fail all of these times. Watch me die."

"I didn't -" the Doctor starts.

"You have," the Master says firmly. "Not that you would have noticed, but you never made much of a fuss about my many deaths until the last time we met. It's different now, but it always happened the same way back then. I'd find you, I'd fail, you'd win, and you'd watch my defeat."

"That's why _you_ hate _me_ ," the Doctor concludes with years upon years of regret weighing down on his shoulders. "I get it. But, Master, like you said, it's different now…" he trails off, trying to come up with the correct words and tenses, the inflection of what he's about to say. He has to do this right; he thinks over and over again, he has to make this right.

The Doctor takes a few steps forward, places a hand on the Master's shoulder; it's warm and he's too bold, and looks him directly in the eye. "I can't hate you for -"

"Get. Off. Me," the Master growls. His voice is low and full of venom. The Doctor stares at him and backs away quickly as if he has been stung. His mouth opens slightly, his eyes cloud over, and he slowly and mechanically moves his numb arm back to his side.

"Master -"

"No," he interrupts quickly, firmly. "I know what you're thinking. It _is_ different now. I'm not chasing you anymore," he says with disgust, pushing the sonic screwdriver forcefully into the Doctor's chest, propelling himself towards the doorway. The Doctor mechanically takes the sonic screwdriver and a step back, staggering and blinking. The Master hovers in the doorway for a moment, looking back, and then says, "After all of these years…I just…can't."

The Doctor, left without anything to say, nods at the floor. The Master vanishes into the shadows of the doorway, leaving only the echoes his footsteps and a loud _bang!_ as he kicks something in the hallway. The Doctor feels like his joints need oiled as he lifts himself onto the counter to sit, his weary head leaning on the front of a cabinet.

The Master, far away in the console room, stares at the bright picture on the scanner, wondering why he ever agreed to come with the Doctor. He slaps his hand against the side of the scanner when it flickers with a flash of blue, and pulls his hand away when it's shocked at the touch. With a few ginger taps on the controls, he reads the temperature and sighs at the glittery, icy landscape that they must conquer next. Together. Somehow. The words don't fit right in his head, but he knows they have to carry on in some way.

The Master goes to find a coat and some shoes with good traction.


	6. Ice and Rage

The Doctor has perched in what he fondly calls the captain's chair, his white shoes propped up onto the console, his fingers busy, picking at loose threads on his suit. The Master shuffles awkwardly into the room, his hands buried in the pockets of the long, black coat that he is now wearing. He looks to the Doctor, painfully aware of the unpleasant exchange they had not too long ago. He wonders and worries for an instant, considering what would happen if the Doctor has changed his mind, and is about to kick him out. He looks to him expectantly and the Doctor bursts into life, energetically swinging his long, swishy coat over his shoulders.

"Are you ready?" he says, trying to sound thrilled. The Master nods, his mouth has gone dry. The Doctor fakes a small smile, even though he feels like there's a fire in the pit of his stomach that's spreading to the rest of his veins. "Nice coat," he says carefully.

"You're only saying that because it's yours," the Master replies, squeezing a bigger smile from the Doctor. So, they've been reduced to playful banter, acting like nothing happened. Both of them can live with that for now.

The Doctor opens the doors dramatically with a cheery "Allons-y!" and they step out onto the planet.

It's dramatic, the difference between the warm interior of the TARDIS, and the spectacle that awaits them outside. The Master sees why the Doctor has waited to reveal the name of the planet, and he opens his mouth to announce, in a voice that tries too hard to be awe-inspiring,

"Welcome to Women Wept."

The Doctor's voice sounds a little bit disheartened instead. The Master looks around, at the impossibly high waves that have been frozen in mid crash around them. They're in the middle of a frozen sea caught in a storm. Foam, bubbles, and splashes of water are frozen as perfect, icy sculptures. The sky is light pink, orange, and purple, with flashes of green, a constant _aurora borealis_. The sky reflects off of the ice, making it sparkle and shine, not melting the ice but making it resemble distorted glass. Every wave is tinted in pinks and purples, and, strangely, in blues and yellows. Every curve, every fissure in the texture of the crashing waves is a different color, a different distortion of the icy blue sun. It's very cold, the Master thinks to himself. It makes him feel powerful, filled with heat and vigor. He almost smiles at the sad look on the Doctor's face that completes the perfect picture.

"What happened?" he asks, watching the Doctor's brown eyes age in front of him as they slowly drift across the landscape.

"Minhydraceivs were released into this system's sun by a group of Sumptionites who wanted to use the energy to revive their own dying sun. It rebounded, but not before-"

"-The planet was frozen and completely solidified. It'll never melt. I don't care, that's obvious." The Doctor looks at him strangely for a moment out of the corner of his eye, then back to the sun. He's doing it again, avoiding the question. "I mean," he starts, "You were here before." The Doctor gives a tiny nod. "With someone else," the Master adds, narrowing his eyes as he narrows in on the subject.

"Rose," the Doctor mumbles, "When I was in my Ninth body." The Master has seen pictures of this one, so his mental image seems accurate: the solemn, guarded Doctor, with his cropped hair and Doctorish ears and nose, hand in hand with the chubby blond chav. The Master wonders what exactly happened to her, and hopes she never comes back. "Sh - It was beautiful," the Doctor murmurs, caught up in his nostalgic, masochistic thoughts.

"Doctor," the Master warns him in a low voice, gathering as much patience as he can muster. "We have other reasons for being here," he reminds him. He doesn't really want a story about the perfect Miss Tyler. The Doctor doesn't really want to tell _him_ , of all people. So they pause, shivering slightly in the cold (the Master works out the atmospheric makeup and climate in his head; he's too proud to ask the Doctor), before the Master speaks up again.

"I think it's this way," he says, pointing to their left.

"You sure?" the Doctor says, looking around. There's no way to distinguish one part of the frozen ocean from another.

"Yeah, they're louder when I think of going that way," the Master says absently, "sort of _pulling_." The Doctor is slightly alarmed by his tone but doesn't show it. Instead, he nods, and lets the Master lead them, keeping an eye out for tricks and slippery patches on the ice.

The Doctor falls several times, anyways; his trainers offer no traction whatsoever. Each time, he lands, sprawling, in the light dusting of snow that coats the icy, rippling ocean floor. It's not even ground, which makes their trip slow and harder as they navigate around large waves and giant swells of water, like hills. Each time he trips, the Master slows slightly in his gait to allow the Doctor time to get to his feet. It's an annoying interruption to the drumbeat that is calling him, but he smirks, pauses, and watches the Doctor's exasperation slowly grow. After a spectacular fall, he even chuckles a little, the Doctor's stony face making a visible effort not to show his annoyance.

Then, the Master slips. The Doctor sees it with his minute senses, throws out a hand (he hasn't preformed Venusian karate in years, so he isn't as fast as he could be), and grabs the Master by the arm before he falls. The Master throws his other arm out to steady himself, his cold toes clenching inside of his own boots in vain. He has a better sense of balance than the Doctor, and stops himself. He opens his mouth and the Doctor almost expects him to say thank you, but he sighs harshly instead and continues on his way.

He leads them a small ways further, until they turn around a particularly gigantic wave and the Master sees it, and he knows. It's a wave caught in mid crash, frozen in iridescent, metallic, pearly pastels that reflect the skies above. It has formed a sort of tunnel through it, wide at one end, and slimmer as it draws farther away from them. It isn't exactly dark, but the tunnel looks menacing anyways.

"It's in there?" the Doctor asks, and the Master nods. Of course it is, of course it would be, because nothing is ever that easy. They don't know what could be inside the icy cave. The Master just stares into the wide end of the tunnel, trying to see through to the point where wave met wave, and is nearly knocked over by the pounding that increases in his head. The tunnel seems to increase the power of the signal, blasting it at the Master, who is standing at the mouth of the transmitter. He clutches at his head, the pain pounds there. The Doctor appears concerned and asks, "Are you okay?"

The Master's mouth thins and he nods. The drums bang on his skull, encouraging him to explore the icy tunnel, calling him, telling him to lead the Doctor there.

"It's not like before," he gasps, without realizing he's holding his breath. "It's…calling to me. I think…maybe something has picked up on it, but it's stronger." He's slightly at a loss for words, and stands at the mouth of the tunnel. There's something other than the fragment pulling him, he knows, but he doesn't want to know more. Whatever it is, it's so much greater than the Doctor and himself, and he feels a little scared. The thick, icy walls make it seem very much like a trap.

The Doctor steps forward to stand next to the Master. The frosty hems of their long coats brush against each other.

"Are you ready?" the Doctor asks, although he isn't sure if there is much to be ready for. The Master nods. He knows if he were a different sort of companion, the Doctor would smile encouragingly and offer his hand, make a joke. He's not quite full of excitement; the Master's unenthusiastic manner subtracts from that. The Master shudders and hopes he never becomes that sort of companion.

They step into the icy tunnel of the wave. The Doctor is partially interested in the beauty of it, feet and feet of solid ice, and yet, somehow, light comes through to create a distortion of the sky. Bubbles and foam create the perfect frozen picture. He watches the Master carefully out of the corner of his eye; his profile is sharp against the pearly ice. They brace themselves for a moment, waiting for some kind of attack.

Nothing happens.

For 30 seconds they continue walking slowly, shoulder to shoulder in the narrow channel, when the Doctor thinks he sees a strange, moving reflection in the corner of his eye. He catches a glimpse of pink and a splash of yellow, but dismisses it as his own reflection. Moments pass slowly and silently, with only the echoing sound of their footsteps. The Master tries to ignore the steadily increasing drumbeat in his head, and the Doctor tries to ignore the thoughts that pass through his own head. Heat radiates from the Master in the cold tunnel, luring him to drift closer, and the Master is likewise drawn to the Doctor's warmth. The planet is cold, and the Time Lords feel a rare chill that sinks into their bones and invades the sharp air that enters their lungs with every rise and fall of their chests.

The Doctor hears a whisper, a swish of a sound, and turns swiftly, nearly knocking himself off balance again. The Master quirks an eyebrow as the Doctor pauses.

"Did you say something?" the Doctor asks. The Master shakes his head negatively and frowns. He looks sideways at the Doctor, uncertain of what he's imagining, and they continue steadily down the tunnel. The end is near, even though it seems to keep stretching away from them. The Master wishes that oceans didn't have waves that were so enormous, that he didn't have to go to so much trouble to stop the drumbeat.

"Doctor."

"What?" the Doctor says, sounding strangely irritated.

"I didn't say anything," the Master has, looking almost concerned and definitely amused at the Doctor's apparent confusion.

"Master," he says, pleading for the Master's full attention, his voice sounding a little pushed over the edge, and even scared. The Master swallows, staring straight into the Doctor's eyes before he can stop himself. The Doctor knows how to really get his attention, he thinks, and tries to question him with his eyes as to what is so important.

The Doctor breathes, "We're not alone." And, even though the Master cannot sense anything, the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. The wrinkles around the corners of his eyes crinkle as if they're smiling, filled with excitement and temerity. They continue walking, every nerve and muscle taut with anticipation.

The Doctor hears something calling to him again, his hearts seem to freeze like this ocean and sink into his stomach as he recognizes it. The Master smells his fear, his panic, as he puts up mental barriers and recites Shakespeare and Conan Doyle and even Dickens inside his mind to confuse whatever he's expecting. He feels as if he's been pushed to the edge of a precipice and freezes in mid-step, vertigo rushes into him and he feels like he's going to jump, then fall and shrink and fade.

And then the Master has his wrist in an icy grip, giving him a root back to the real world. Nails pierce into flesh and the Doctor is back, gasping as if he's been plunged into a pool of frozen water.

"Doctor?" the Master asks, a little too harshly, "what's wrong?" The Doctor seems to him like a fish out of water. His brain rushes back to the moment when the Master's skin brushed against his, bringing him back to sanity.

"Don't let go," he murmurs desperately. "I don't know why, but…" he trails off and shakes his head to focus, a dog trying to get water from its ears. "It'll take me if you don't…the fragment…" It is clear that the Doctor is not in his right mind. The Master is shocked to see the Doctor scared and as vulnerable as he is now. Another chill goes down his spine and he thinks he feels something behind them, breathing on the back of his neck; the once-bleached hairs stand up.

The Master turns, but nothing is there. He feels it again, the pull towards the other end of the tunnel, and pulls the Doctor forward, clasping their hands together. He's desperate to reach it before something gets them, desperate beyond all reason that he is rejecting right now. The Doctor can barely speak, barely resist without wrenching his hand from the Master's. The Master uncharacteristically refuses to stop or let go of the Doctor's hand, unquestioningly accepting that he has to take the Doctor with him to protect him.

Suddenly, the end of the wave is upon them and they both stop, tripping over each other's feet and legs and coat, sprawling apart in a horrible, painfully slow moment.

The Doctor hits the ice, his head bounces a few times, and he is sprawled out awkwardly, his eyes closed. The Master manages to throw his arms out enough that he doesn't land too hard, but, for an agonizingly loud and dark time, blacks out anyways.

* * *

The Doctor wakes from his delirium in a sheer panic and sits up wildly. His chest heaves with fear as he breathes heavily, gasping for air. He's freezing, but is consoled by a strangely warm and comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Doctor?" a cloudy voice calls, "Are you alright?" He shakes his head, trying to catch the words more clearly.

"It was…" he trails off and takes a deep breath. "Yeah," he says slowly.

Warm hands cradle his face and he slowly emerges from the remnants of his dream, to the whispers of, "its okay, you're safe now."

Suddenly, warm lips press against his, gently kissing the Doctor into bliss. His eyes open widely from their previously drooping state, brown melting into brown, and he opens his mouth in a sort of surprise. The kiss depends between the two and he runs his hands through dyed blonde hair. The kiss lasts for several long moments.

The Doctor smiles warmly now, his features soften. He whispers softly, his voice full of affection and warmth,

"Rose."


	7. Through Rose Colored Glasses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Chapter contains a mild manipulative relationship, although nothing violent.

His head is groggy when he wakes up, his thoughts fuzzy and unfocused. For a moment, he wonders where he is, then comes back to Rose's arms around him, her long, silky hair tickling his neck and falling over his shoulders, the wide smile pressed into a kiss to his collar bone. It jolts him to reality, as if it all should shock him. He wonders why that should be surprising; after all, they've been together for a while now.

Rose looks up at him and smiles, and he smiles back, because he knows it's the right thing to do. He shivers a bit, even though he can feel her warm arms around him, and speaks. It's difficult to form words at first; his throat feels thick, his tongue heavy in his dry mouth.

"I think I'm coming down with something," he finally says, and forming the words is suddenly easier than he thought. Rose frowns slightly and her forehead wrinkles with concern.

"I'll make you breakfast," she says, her kind voice like music to his ears, like he's been waiting to hear her speak for a long time. She dons a fluffy pink bathrobe that makes her skin almost glow, and leaves the room. Her departure is followed with the sounds of clinking china, and a strange haze of domesticity falls onto the Doctor. He clears his throat a few times and changes into warm trousers and a jumper. He doesn't feel comfortable in the clothing, but he can't seem to find any suits. They would be too chilly, anyways, he thinks. He shouldn't be this cold.

The Doctor enters the kitchen; a tiny, cute little room with a table set for two. Rose smiles and sets a plate with toast and his favorite orange marmalade. He feels like they should be chatting about something, but his head is stuffed up with half formed thoughts and confusion.

"Don't know why you feel ill," Rose comments suddenly, biting into a piece of her own toast, "it's a lovely day." She smiles at him like it's all she knows how to do. "I think some of your old friends are coming to visit," she continues.

"Really?" he looks surprised. "Who?"

"Oh, you know, a few always show up on nice days," she says, laying a hand on his arm.

He nods absently, and says, "It'll be nice to catch up." Rose opens her mouth to respond when they hear a knock at the door. She rushes to answer it. The Doctor sits there nervously, afraid to hope for a certain face. One does jump to mind, but he pushes it away and replaces it with the grinning face of the former companion that appears.

"Jo!" he says happily.

"Oh! There's me," Sarah Jane steps from behind Jo, smiling as widely as the Doctor does (although Jo's grin is the largest.)

"Hello, Doctor," Jo says, as the Doctor hugs them both enthusiastically. "It's been awhile."

"Awhile! You two look like I just dropped you off yesterday!"

"Oh, please! It may have been yesterday for you, but for us it's been years!" Sarah Jane jokes.

"Yes, tell me, how's Luke?" the Doctor asks. Sarah Jane blinks at him a few times.

"Uh, yes, he's fine," she says, not sounding assured of it.

"The Brig sends his love," Jo interrupts quickly.

"That's nice," Rose says, smiling at the two, "why don't you go into the other room and catch up. I'll make tea." The Doctor slings a gangly arm around the two and they stroll into the next room.

Rose watches them laugh from the doorway and closes her eyes, a smile growing on her face.

* * *

"That was nice," Rose says. The clink of cups and plates follow her into the kitchen. The Doctor sits in his armchair, a book in his hand, and a deep, misty sadness in his eyes. "It's so good that they take some time to see you. Brings back some fun times, doesn't it, Doctor?" The Doctor stares blankly at the wallpaper. He vaguely registers that it's yellow. "Doctor? Are you even listening to me?" He drops his book to the ground with a start, and looks up at Rose's annoyed face.

"Yeah, sorry," he mutters.

"Don't be sad, Doctor," Rose says, not unkindly, setting down the magazines she was tidying to perch on the arm of the armchair and hold the Doctor's hands.

"You can feel _so much_ ," she says, "don't choose to be unhappy." The Doctor looks up at her, her golden hair shining with the light from the fireplace.

"Rose Tyler," he says, a shine growing in his eye to cover up the sadness. "You're wise beyond your years." She bites her lip and a hesitant smile grows across her face. She bends down to kiss him sweetly, and he cups her cheek in his hand. He thinks she tastes like sun and sand.

Rose pulls away suddenly to look at the clock on the mantelpiece. She fusses, "Is it that late already?" and the Doctor glimpses the light coming through the curtains, it's already dark.

"That was quick," he mumbles groggily.

"Are you feeling sick, still?" Rose asks, concerned, placing a soft hand on his forehead.

"I do feel a bit disoriented," the Doctor dubiously admits. He's been cold all day.

"You should go to bed early," she says.

"But I-" she puts a finger to his lips. He feels like a child. "And before you say that you're the Doctor, you're not _that_ kind of Doctor." He rolls his eyes and kisses her forehead before leaving the room, thinking that a shower might warm him up.

* * *

Rose enters their bedroom and sighs in relief when she sees that the Doctor is already asleep. She pulls the covers tightly around him and he frowns, mumbling. His eyelids flicker and it's apparent that he's dreaming. Rose gently sits next to him on the bed and strokes his face possessively with her warm hand. The Doctor's mouth moves, forming words, but his dreaming tongue is thick in his mouth, and Rose can't make them out. He whimpers and sounds very vulnerable, as he tries so hard not to when he's awake. She can't help but think that he's so pretty when his face is scrunched up like that, wincing from pain. She strokes the wrinkles in his face as they twist in fear and surprise, the story of his dreams played out on her fingertips. He yelps again.

She smiles, a strange, predatory smile, and places both hands on his temples, diving into the darkness of his nightmares.

* * *

"Doctor, how could you!" A sharp voice, a young voice, cuts through the blackness to slap him. "After all we'd been through; you just gave up on me!" The Doctor wants to yell back that he's sorry, that he didn't mean to, but the darkness is a fog that enters his mouth when he tries to shout. It gets into his lungs and he can't breathe or speak or scream, because his lungs are screaming for air. It doesn't end, though, as another voice echoes around and inside of him, reverberating so loudly that his nerves are on fire.

"And me," the other, bitterer voice continues, "You didn't even bat an eyelid when I died. You didn't care, didn't feel guilty that you brought me to my death."

The Doctor tries to defend himself, but his arguments lodge themselves in his throat, choking him. "I didn't-" he finally spits out before yet another voice drowns him out.

"No, you didn't," it snarls, "You didn't dare to think that there was another way. Tried everything? I'm afraid not," he feels the scorn of this voice, the shame and blame, with more guilt than the others.

"I didn't want-"

"OF COURSE YOU DID!" she yells, if it's possible to yell when your voice is already so loud that it cuts the listener to shreds. He hears two voices in hers, mutated and strange. "You spent your entire life running. You never wanted anything more than to rid yourself of that burden, and you were only upset once it was gone." The voices seemed to melt together into another mocking voice he hadn't heard in such a long time.

"No," he mumbles, trying to shout. "NO!"

"Don't act like you didn't see this coming, Doctor, all you ever wanted was to be left _alone_."

The Doctor finally finds his voice and screams, a long, terrible noise that multiplies on its own and echoes back at him a million times, shattering him into a sobbing, quaking mess of guilt, fear, anger, and pain.

And he still won't wake up.


	8. Stuck

"I hate you," the Master tells the Doctor's unconscious body. "This is just like you, and I hate every moment of it. And you, especially." He chews on his thumbnail for a few minutes that are not as silent as he could hope, the drums banging even louder in the silence, and sulks. He is beginning to get cold from sitting on the ice for too long. It's not even pretty anymore. It's just stupid, freezing, strangely colorful ice. He's been silent for awhile since the Doctor collapsed into unconsciousness, and he failed to enter the other Time Lord's mind to wake him.

"You just have to play the hero, don't you; you have to fall into the trap. So, now, you're stuck inside your own head, and I'm stuck waiting for you to get out of it so we can get out of here. I can't even take you back to the TARDIS in case I leave your mind behind in the psychic field." The Master looks at the crystal fragment he has in his hands. He scratches at it with his chewed fingernail. It doesn't leave any marks on the crystalline surface, not that he expected it to.

"I should take the fragment out of this tunnel and steal your TARDIS, you know. It would probably fry your mind," he adds absently, turning it over and over in his hands. "I've seen all of the Inception movies. You're probably stuck in limbo," he chuckles to himself. "It's been nearly an hour. What's that in dream-time? Twelve hours? What's keeping you there?"

The Doctor doesn't answer. The Master watches his chest rise and fall rhythmically.

"Bet it's better than out here." He taps his fingers against the ice in his four-beat rhythm. "I don't even know why I still am here." The Master reaches into the Doctor's coat and fishes around. He finally finds what he's looking for: the TARDIS key, and a bag of jelly babies to boot. He picks out a lemon one and smiles when he thinks of the Doctor's face when he wakes up and finds his jelly babies eaten.

He'd have to stick around for that.

"Maybe I don't hate you," he tilts his head to the side as he chews. "Strongly dislike. But you're growing on me. You'll have to stop that," he says sternly. "There's a good boy, listen to your Master." He laughs quietly at his own little joke, and then sighs.

"This is strange. This entire situation…is just…We used to be friends," he says suddenly. His eyes glaze over with visions of his childhood, and he shakes the memories away after an embarrassingly painful moment. "I spent so long chasing after you, and you never listened to me." His voice raises a few octaves as he speaks. "I didn't know what the drumbeat was back then; just echoes of now, the Time War reverberating back to me, but you _never_ even gave me the time of day." He slams his fist onto the ice and it sounds louder than it should. He jolts out of his rant to look around, but the ice doesn't seem to be cracking. He violently bites the head off another jelly baby.

"Then there was the Time War, with us fighting on the same side. A grey area. I finally learned self-preservation, a regeneration cycle too late, something I'd always set aside for _you_ ," the Master spits. "Ungrateful little…" he trails off, mumbling. " And then you found me at the last place I thought you'd want to see. Should've known that danger would attract you. And you were so changed, so…beautifully broken. It was brilliant to be on top again, as long as it lasted. But you didn't seem to get it. You still don't get it." He takes a deep, shaking breath, and clenches the bag of sweets in his hand.

"I am not here for your amusement. I'm not chasing you anymore. I'm not your pathetic helpless companion. I'm not going to melt at a heart-to-heart and a few gushy words. I'm not going to hold your hand and cheer you up, motivate you, ask you obvious questions and act dumb like those stupid human girls you travel with," he sneers.

"I am your _equal_ ," he tells the Doctor forcefully, but he doesn't hear. The Master scoffs at him.

"What was I thinking," he mutters. "I think I do hate you. A lot," he adds, for good measure. The Master picks at the bag of jelly babies and realizes, to his displeasure, that they're squashed.

He sighs resignedly and leans his head against the cold, icy wall of the tunnel. The Doctor dreams on, his eyes closed, his breath fogging the air above him as it leaves his lips.

* * *

Sunlight filters through the lacy window curtains. Birds chirp slowly at first, then their noise increases, filling the Doctor's ears as he wakes up. He opens his eyes then rubs them, rubbing away the darkness and fear of his dreams. He feels the warmth of Rose beside him in the bed. His head feels clearer today, his mind more focused and present. Besides a strange, growing feeling of being misplaced, he feels fine. Great, even.

"You're awake," Rose says. He almost jumps, not realizing that she's awake already. "Feeling better?" she asks. He nods automatically, even though his throat feels raw, as if he'd been screaming for hours. But Rose says nothing of him sleeping restlessly, so it must just be a cold. "Doctor?" she says, shaking him from his thoughts. "I think some more of your friends are visiting today."

"Brilliant!" he says, the word coming easily on his tongue. He feels almost like a puppet, sure of what to say only as he says it.

Rose gets dressed and leaves the bedroom, the soft padding of her feet against the hardwood floor strangely magnified inside the Doctor's head. He stumbles into the bathroom, half awake, to the sounds of opening cupboards and clinking china. He retrieves his razor and shaving cream from the cupboard over the sink, and stares blankly at the mirror for a moment as he waits for the water to warm. He stoops over the small sink to wash his face and shave, splashing water droplets across the greyish surface of the mirror.

 _"…Have to play the hero, don't you, you have to fall into the trap…"_

The Doctor stands up abruptly, bumping his head on the overhang of the cupboard. He puts a hand to his head, moaning.

"Ow! Rose, was that you?" he says uncertainly, with more than a little impatience. The voice seemed to have come through the walls from another room. Was Rose in some sort of trouble?

 _"...I should take the fragment out of this tunnel and steal your TARDIS…"_

The voice fades as he calls out once more for Rose, then stops to listen closer. He's the Doctor. Why is he calling for someone else's help?

 _"...Maybe I don't hate you…"_

The Doctor's chest swells with excitement and relief all at once, but for what reason he isn't sure. Perhaps it's the uncertainty of what he's hearing. He feels as if he knows who the voice belongs to, as if it was some random being he met long ago, in a dream…

"Doctor, what are you doing in here? Your friends are waiting!"

Rose stands in the doorway, her hands on her hips, her lips pursed impatiently at him.

"Sorry," he says, at a loss. "I thought I-"

"Doctor," she says warningly. He sighs and follows her to the living room, where Rose has prepared a brunch for the Doctor and his visitors.

"Jamie! Zoe!" a giant smile appears across the Doctor's face as he embraces his former companions, affection and content spread over his fears and wonders.

* * *

That night, he has more nightmares. At least he thinks it's that night, but it could be the night after or the night after that or a week later. These days, every day seems to blend together. He's not sure where anything starts or ends or even has a middle anymore. He dreams, horrible, terrible dreams when he's not awoken by the birds and Rose's warm embrace. Off and on, something tugs at his mind and he holds his head very, very tightly so it isn't tugged away, leaving him empty.

His companions visit, in twos or threes, with the rare odd one out, all alone. They smile and laugh and reminisce together. The Doctor forgets about the nightmares when he's with them, his hearts fill with warmth and love for them and the old times. It hurts, too, with an aching, deep pain that Rose urges him to forget every night, after they leave. The Doctor feels like he's retired, tucked away in a little cottage on a beach. He can hear the waves sometimes, just before he sinks into his dark dreams, if he tries. He's mentioned going for a walk or a swim several times, but Rose just smiles and kisses him on the forehead each time, urging him to rest so he can get over his cold.

He's not sure what kind of cold it is. His throat is sore and he's always cold, freezing no matter how many blankets he piles onto the bed at night or how many layers he wears during the day. His head is always a little fuzzy. He forgets to turn lights off or on; he'll sit in the dark for hours or go to bed with the lights on. Rose doesn't worry, no matter how often he expresses his concerns. Every room she occupies is warm and light and feels like home to him. More than anything, he loves that feeling. The Doctor feels like he hasn't seen home in a long time.

When he dreams, his mind is filled with an all-consuming darkness. Every word, whisper, and shout is amplified until his ears burst; every syllable of the torrent of shouting pains him. The Doctor feels the guilt of those he's lost. He's terrified to sleep, but he somehow falls asleep every night. The day is a comfort. The day is a warm blanket. And every day - every night - blends into another until he's not sure what his purpose is anymore.

* * *

"You have three visitors today," Rose smiles at the Doctor gently as she hands him his morning tea and toast. "They should be here any moment. They've come quite a ways."

"That's nice, dear. Have you heard anything from Martha recently?" Rose frowns for a moment.

"You know, I don't really think we got along well," she purses her lips. Martha had come on her own not too long ago, he seemed to remember.

"Hmm, I thought you two would like each other…" the Doctor trails off, before clearing his throat.

"Are you ever going to get rid of that cold?" Rose says with some concern in her voice, placing a hand over his forehead. "Maybe we should tell them to visit in a few days. You need your rest."

"No," the Doctor says a little too firmly. "I mean," he sighs, "I'm okay. Honestly, Rose, I -" Someone knocks at the door. Before Rose can, the Doctor jumps up to answer the door for once. There aren't any windows on the white door, so the visitors are always a surprise.

"Hello!" he says cheerfully as he swings open the door, revealing three smiling former companions filling the frame. The grin falls from his face slowly.

"Doctor! It's nice to see you," Tegan says happily, "Nyssa came here all the way from-"

"Adric?"

The boy with the dark hair just smiles.

"Adric…didn't you…aren't you…?" The Doctor seems to be at a loss for words, a broken toy. Tegan attempts to say something and Nyssa tries to step across the threshold, but he blocks the doorway. The cogs turn in his head almost visibly as tendrils of doubt and confusion work at him. Something in his brain clicks, finally, and his face looses all of its puzzlement to replace it with stone.

"You died," he says, in an empty, hollow sort of voice. The nervous smiles fade from Nyssa and Tegan's faces.

"No, Doctor, what are you talking about?" Adric says. "I'm alive. I'm right here."

"The Cybermen," the Doctor says weakly. His shoulders sag, the weight of the universe comes to rest there once more. He continues in a controlled, solemn voice, "You crashed into the Earth. You died. Adric is dead." He says every syllable with absolute finality, trying to reassure himself for the last time. The Doctor turns his back on the trio to stare at Rose. He says quietly, with reigned in anger and rage, "And this is the part where I get very angry. And you don't want to see me like this for very long, so answer these questions carefully: Who are you? What do you want? And, _where is the Master_?"

The Doctor's eyes darken over, his entire posture, mood, and appearance show exactly why he's called the Oncoming Storm. He stands in the doorway to the small house, feeling very big inside of it, and just stares at the empty shell that looks like Rose. His glare burns through the façade.

Then, the house melts away around him, disintegrating into the sand. Suddenly, he's standing on a lonely, grey beach, the sky filled with faded stars and colors, the sand underneath his feet made of dull shades of pink, grey, and brown. The wind whips around him, whips the long, tan coat that he's suddenly wearing again into a frenzy, whips the foam from the ocean waves that lap at his shoes without wetting them. Everything seems to fade into an almost colorless white at the corners; even the sand recedes and blows around listlessly. Rose's figure has long faded from the scene, but the Doctor knows that someone is listening.

"You're not Rose," the Doctor starts, stern and sad. He knows he won't get answers to his questions just by asking them point blank. He sighs and resorts to conversation.

"No, I'm not," an answering voice agrees in all ways but one; it continues to use Rose's voice. It whips around him, diving into every crevice and wrinkle of his coat and clothing, like the wind.

"Who are you?" he repeats his first question, a little less harshly and demanding this time.

"They used to call me Eylryllyan," the voice fades in and out again, like the sand blowing at the Doctor's ankles. The Doctor wants to test out the word immediately, with all of its y's and l's.

"Eylryllyan," he repeats, the syllables dancing on his lips. He's never heard it before. "What do you want?" the Doctor asks, moving on to his second question with as much patience as he can muster.

"To be loved." Rose, the imaginary concept of her, threads into existence and lays a cold, light hand on the Doctor's cheek. He doesn't shirk away, although he wants to. She walks around him, out of sight, as he answers her. "As if it were that easy."

"Everyone is loved," the Doctor answers, even though he isn't quite sure if he believes it.

"Really?" her voice turns cold, as the Doctor's never heard it before. She whispers from behind him, directly into his ear, "How could someone love me, as icy and cold as I am?" Her laugh is like icicles, and the Doctor is afraid to turn around and see what has happened to the image of Rose. "Let me tell you a story, Time Lord."

"There once was a beautiful, terrible, cruel world. It had no name, no occupant, and few knew of its existence. None cared, because none could stand to live in or by the sea that covered most of the planet. Tragedy struck, and the planet was frozen, what little warmth it had, what great power it contained, frozen at a single moment in time. And the world had its first visitors. Two tiny, miniscule people came to the planet, and spoke its name." This is more than a story, it's a tale of how cruel and vain this being really is.

"Women Wept," the Doctor provides.

"They named it after the continent," the voice continued, enraged, "A tiny speck of land, like a weeping woman, when the cruel, vast sea was frozen, irreversibly, to the very core. And the two visitors were the first to step foot on the planet and see the damage done."

Dread gathers in the Doctor's chest, he knows what she's going to say, he realizes guiltily.

"And they thought it beautiful," the voice breaks, sounds like relief and sorrow, gratitude and hatred all in one. The Doctor has never heard such feeling expressed in a voice alone. "There was a man, called the Doctor, and a young human girl, Rose. And she loved the planet, which had never been loved before. But she loved someone else even more." The Doctor's hearts sink even further now.

"But he never loved her; he never even cared for -"

"That's not true!" he interrupts angrily.

"Do not lie!" Rose's voice grows colder again, a sharp, painful reminder. "A human girl, so young and naive, could only hold a fraction of a fraction of any of your great emotions, Time Lord! And I, a great, powerful being, the soul and heart of a vast _ocean_ , was frozen, emotionless, timeless, with no way to feel or scream out in agony! You did not love her! She loved you with all of her tiny heart! And you did not." The Doctor is speechless; he knows the voice is right, albeit cruel and unfair.

"Then they left, never to return. But Rose left something…footprints. The only being ever to have loved _me_ , though I might be crueler and colder than ever before. So I took her imprint, a perfect imprint of her mind. And I knew that her days with you were numbered, as all who know you must know. So I waited. I built a perfect world for you, a world where we could be…a world where a great immobile being could live with you, a great being of such life and feeling. We could be one! I could live through you, and you could live with me, together in such perfection!" The Doctor would take a step away from the ranting being in front of him, enraptured with her great ideas, but he knows where he is now. There is no escape. He fills with dread.

"But it didn't work out," he says, fumbling for the right words, trying to grasp how such a thing could happen without him realizing. The ocean was sentient…why hadn't he noticed before? Was it because he was so closed off and vulnerable? The leather jacket was just one barrier he had carried in his past life. With this new one, he had shed it off, opened himself to vulnerability, and the Master's mind… "I saw through your fairytale."

"It was not a fairytale," she snaps. "It was penance! Day after day, or at least as you perceived those small moments in the great whole of Time! And every night, your screams filled my head, fear and terror fed my hunger. And it was beautiful." The Doctor can barely bring himself to look at the distorted image of Rose in front of him, with her cold, menacing smile, the predatory look in her eyes. Once so warm, they were drained of color, like her skin, the blush on her cheeks and lips.

"And here we are," he says, stumbling for a foothold on her monologue. "A perfect dream world, one you control, one you can live in, because -"

"You want the crystal fragment," she says flatly.

"Yes."

"It allows me to live like this, to remain alive in my own little world. You cannot have it."

"I need it."

"Do you? What else do you need, Doctor? Do you need your TARDIS? Do you need the Master? Why don't we trade one for the other, a fair exchange, don't you think?" She laughs coldly.

If the Doctor seemed angry before, he takes a step forward, seething and more intimidated that he has been in a very long time.

"I have given you so many chances to prove yourself," he snarls, "You have invaded my mind, distorted my memories, and now you want to punish me. But you will never, ever, threaten the Master. Because, if you even consider harming him, you will regret it for the rest of your incredibly long life and you will never forget your mistakes or me. Do you understand?"

The distortion of Rose smiles at him in a way that he detests deeply. It's a mockery, a disgrace to Rose's memory that will forever be tainted. But the distortion seems to fade and ebb again, like it is made of different sands, and something new integrates itself in Rose's place from the ground up. Something more solid and dark, something with a smiling face that stirs new disgust and hatred into the Doctor.

"Perfectly," the image of the Master says in a low, taunting voice that the Doctor finds eerily familiar. "You could never live with Rose, could you? Too boring," it snarls. The Doctor has decided that this ocean planet no longer deserves any kind of recognition for its intelligence. "So…what about me?" It smiles. The Doctor feels like he's going to be sick.

"What have you done?" he says, choking back the worry that wracks through him.

"Nothing much," it replies with a Cheshire smile, "I've only used his psychic imprint. I'm exactly who you want me to be, n-now." It shudders a bit with the last few words. The Doctor presses his lips firmly together to hide a quirk of his lips.

"Sorry? Didn't catch that last bit."

"I am exactly who - I am - who you - what is this infernal noise?" The Master's voice has melded with Rose's into a supernatural whine.

"You are using the psychic field of the white-point star, which is running on the same wavelength as the Master. The Master, being a living, present person, with his own thoughts, feelings, and ideas, will not bend to your petty ideals. Not to mention that he's recovering from a serious loss of artron energy, making him a power vacuum," he says, almost proudly, tantalizingly. "You can't hold on much longer - your life and psychic energy is depleting." The image of the Master flickers, backing away from the Doctor, but he takes a few steps forward.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I am so sorry."

He raises his hands to its temples, but it hisses at him in its strange mix of voices, finally, "This is everything that you have ever wanted Doctor," it raises the Master's arms in a final gesture, and whispers, "You could have me!"

"I never wanted it to be like this," the Doctor replies, places his fingers on the fake Master's temples, and closes his eyes, finding his root back to reality as this one crumbles behind him, the sand disintegrating underneath him, like the tide going out underneath his very feet.

* * *

The Doctor opens his eyes with a start. He's lying on the cold, icy floor of the tunnel inside the frozen wave. The Master is kneeling over him, shaking him to consciousness, sounding uncharacteristically concerned.

"Doctor?" he says, moving back now that the Doctor is awake. The Doctor stares at him for a long moment, a rare amount of fear in his brown eyes. He brings his hand up to the Master's face to cup his cheek.

"Are you real?" he asks quietly, searching in the Master's eyes. The Master is unsure of how to respond, his eyes roam the Doctor's face, hating himself for the relief and concern that is now flooding him.

"Of course - what the - what are you doing?" He wrenches the Doctor's hand away from his face. The Doctor searches for something for a moment more, his face slowly clouding over with hurt. He makes a conscious effort to stand up. They stand and stare at each other for a moment, both confused but not quite willing to speak first. The Master wets his lips and opens his mouth to speak, but the Doctor does first.

"Right. Do you have the fragment?" The Master wordlessly pulls out the white-point star fragment and hands it to the Doctor, wincing slightly at the rise in volume of the drums as it leaves his fingertips. "Back to the TARDIS, then," the Doctor says. He looks upset, the Master thinks. But the Doctor doesn't say a word.


	9. Confrontation

They walk back to the TARDIS in relative silence. It's a thick silence, a fog that hangs between the pair. The Doctor is deep in thought, the Master watches him from the corner of his eye without being noticed. He's curious about what happened, but he lets it go. The Doctor is obviously trying to hide something from him. He'll have to squeeze it out of him in another way.

They slip into the TARDIS, and it dematerializes shortly afterwards with a sudden wind that no one is around to notice.

The Master perches on one of the railings and watches the Doctor pilot the TARDIS smoothly into the vortex (He's always the best at piloting when he is in deep reflection, the Master notes. Although, the Doctor _has_ left the parking brake on, but he might not know it is a parking brake.). When they're spinning peacefully through the time vortex, the Doctor continues to mess with the random settings of the TARDIS, pretending to check things on the console and so forth. He expects the Master to leave him in search of food or warmth after the strange, cold "adventure" they've just had. The Master knows how the TARDIS works, knows how the Doctor works, and doesn't leave. He wants answers.

"If you're going to mess around with the controls to avoid talking to me, why don't you do something useful and fix the chameleon circuit?" the Master says with a sly smile.

"I'm not avoiding talking to you," the Doctor says. It sounds like a firm statement, not a response; he's convincing himself.

"Then tell me," the Master says carefully and curiously, "what happened back there?"

"Psychic attack," the Doctor answers simply. He avoids the Master's eyes and rubs the back of his neck. The Master blinks and wonders when he picked that old habit back up.

"What kind of psychic attack?" The Doctor says nothing. "You were out for hours." The Doctor looks slightly surprised by this. He had thought that he was only unconscious for several minutes.

"And you waited that long for me?" he asks incredulously.

"You asked me if I were real." He shrugs the question off and stares at the Doctor, trying to provoke a response.

"I had a dream," the Doctor starts, "it was like a dream. You know how, when you dream, sometimes you look in mirrors but you don't see anything, or the lights don't work, or time passes instantaneously, but you don't notice until you wake up?"

The Master nods.

"It was like that. She tried to use your psychic imprint to trick me. I used the drums as a way to get out," the Doctor explains simply. The Master tilts his head to the side, confused.

"She?"

"The ocean is sentient. Used the crystal's psychic field as a world that she could exist in, a world all her own. She was frozen, trapped inside herself. When we took the crystal, it fried her mind." The Doctor's face turns dark and unforgiving as he speaks, choosing his words carefully.

"Fried? Whatever happened to second chances?" the Master scoffs. "Or, what was it you said to the leader of the Sycorax… 'No second chances. I'm that sort of a man.' Was that for _everyone_?"

"That's different. You're…different," the Doctor defends, understanding what he's getting at.

"Yeah, right, it's not like I've tried to kill you more than anyone else." He pauses. "Except maybe the Daleks. And we teamed up once, didn't we!" The Doctor looks at him patronizingly, wondering if he'll just get to the point already. The Master sighs. "What did you dream about? What was so bad that you can just walk away and kill some great, magnificent being?" The Doctor looks at his shoes, his gaze hardened and guarded. "I've never even heard of a sentient ocean before. What if you just committed genocide? Again? Do you get extra second chances, too?"

"If you're going to call me a hypocrite, why don't you just say it?" the Doctor says softly. His rage is simmering within him. He looks up at the Master, anger and disgust clear on his face. "Better yet, why don't you leave? Why are you still here?" The Master stares blankly at him, now. "If you hate it, hate _me_ so much, why haven't you left? You've had plenty of chances to leave."

"Why haven't you kicked me out, then?" the Master says, his voice raising unwillingly as he takes a step back, noticing that the Doctor may not want him here anymore. "If you hate me so much that you want me to leave you all on your own again, then why have you let me stay so long?"

"Because," the Doctor's face softens for a moment, "I don't hate you." He sighs and throws his hands into the air in exasperation. "Please, listen, pay attention! I tried to tell you, I can't hate you-"

"As if I believe that," the Master sneers. "Sometimes, you just look at me like you're so angry and disappointed in me, like I'm some stupid kid that did something wrong. Because you're so perfect, and I'm not, and nothing I do will ever live up to you."

The Doctor stares at him for a moment, wide-eyed, as he automatically tries to emphasize.

"How many years did I spend following your footprints across the stars as you ran around with any number of those perfect little friends of yours? I tried to get _your_ attention. And when I'd have it, you would knock me to my knees and go along on your merry way, forgetting all about me. For nearly eight hundred years," he shouts the last few words at the Doctor. "Eight hundred years! I chased after you! And just when I thought I was done with that, you find me, and bring me back, and change your mind completely. You want me here! But that's all it is," his voice breaks and he yells in a very hoarse voice, "You _want_ me, and I _need_ you."

The Doctor stares at him openly, unashamed to look vulnerable in his own way. He shouldn't be seeing the Master like this. The Master is always in control, he thinks, it's his point. He always is calm, cool, and collected…except when he's cornered. The Doctor wonders if the Master feels cornered now, after he basically told him to leave. The Master is visibly upset and frustrated. The Doctor takes a deep breath, composes himself, and thinks of something to say, feeling too old and too kind, and very much the opposite of the Master.

"I'm sorry," the Doctor starts. The Master wants to scoff and laugh, but he bites his tongue and listens to the Doctor, because that's how it all started: a chance, a hesitation, and a tiny spark of hope that has reemerged in the back of the Master's mind.

"I should have paid more attention to you," he starts simply, "I shouldn't have run from the realization that you were following me for a reason. I should have saved you, every time I could have, because no one deserves to go through what you did for someone who would only run away. And I shouldn't expect you to agree with me, or listen to me, because why should you?"

The Master sets his jaw and turns his back sharply on the Doctor. He walks away slowly, deliberately melting into the shadows of the depths of the TARDIS.

"You're brilliant, you know," the Doctor says. He speaks softly but knows how to throw his voice so the Master can hear him, even from his retreating stance on the other side of the console room. The Master stops. "Everything that I said to Professor Yana was true. It is true. You're a genius. I've never met anyone like you." The Master thinks that he's stretching the truth and takes another step.

"You're my equal." The Doctor continues, a little desperate to get the Master to understand his appreciation, his admiration. "An opponent, yes, but an equal, as you should be. The Moriarty to my Holmes. The Joker to my Batman. The…Voldemort to my...Dumbledore."

"Actually," the Master says, turning on his heel with a bit back smile, "Grindelwald was more of Dumbledore's equal than Voldemort. He was much more intelligent, not to mention they were…friends…when they were younger." The Doctor cracks a smile of his own. The Master obligingly steps back towards him, crosses his arms, and rolls his head to the side, waiting for him to continue.

"I wasn't lying, I don't hate you. I'm disappointed because you cause destruction, I'm angry because you represent all that I oppose." He seems agitated again, ashamed to admit any of this, and disgusted, maybe with himself. "But I can't…" he takes a deep, shaky breath, "You're right, I need someone to excite me, a foil, a challenge, to bring me back to Earth, because the rest of the universe doesn't stand a chance without us to balance each other out, Master," he says, his voice rising again as the Master turns once more. The Doctor's chance to apologize has turned into a lecture, and he's done, done listening to it all. He refuses to believe any of it and chooses to walk away again.

"Fine, we are different, but you have everything that I have ever valued," he doesn't know what to say now and thinks less carefully about choosing his words, yelling them at the Master in a hoarse voice, finally shouting, "you have my attention! What do you want from me?"

The Master spins, suddenly, and propels himself towards the Doctor. His face is filled with such emotion that the Doctor closes his eyes and winces, ready for the fist in his face, guilt and desperation fill him as he prepares for the pain that he thinks he deserves.

The pain never comes.

"Everything," the Master growls in his ear.

Suddenly the Master's warm lips are on his, kissing him, his hands cupping the Doctor's face. The Doctor doesn't move for a split second, shocked and surprised. Then, he kisses back, his hand at the nape of the Master's neck, the corners of the Master's mouth curling up in a withdrawn almost-smile. He's waited so long for this, held back like the spring that has been building in his stomach. He's looked away too soon, smiled at the wrong moment, bit back words that seemed too soft on his tongue. But that's all gone now because he's made the move, and he kisses the Doctor like he needs to memorize his taste and scent, because he doesn't remember what he tasted like before now. They manage to take a shaky breath before they kiss again, their fingertips tug and pull at the wrinkles in their clothing, their bodies mold together perfectly; their minds spark as their foreheads touch.

The Doctor can hardly think, and the Master doesn't want to. Then the Master nips at the Doctor's lower lip possessively, and the Doctor brings a hand to his chest to push him gently away. He opens his eyes. The Master's chin quivers for a moment, the tingling feel of the Doctor still on his lips and in his mouth, before he sets it firmly.

"You said you didn't want to chase me," he says breathlessly, "after all of these years." The Doctor has nearly memorized his words, and the Master takes a moment to think of how they must have affected him.

"This isn't chasing," he smiles, his nose an inch away from the Doctor's, his hands clenching the Doctor's lapels. "Chasing was a losing battle. This, Doctor," he draws the Doctor's name out on his tongue, tasting the victorious moment, "is _winning_."

He pulls the Doctor to him again and they kiss fiercely, using their pent up feelings for passion instead of fighting. The Doctor pulls him closer, as close as he can, trying to glue the Master to him so that neither of them can run away this time. This time when the Master bites his lip he doesn't shudder and pull away, but melts. The Master runs his hands through the Doctor's intoxicating hair. How long he had wanted to do that…

They curse their need for oxygen when they stop for breath, and the Doctor whispers the start of a statement, "Master…" The Master swallows and steps forward, pinning the Doctor to the console.

"You want me," he whispers back, smiling at the Doctor's pained expression. He's the prettiest when he's in pain; the Master wants to throw back his head and laugh. "Is that why I make you so conflicted?" the Master asks. The Doctor, struggling to breathe properly and not turn into putty, just stares at him with his darkened brown eyes. "Because I am, as you so quaintly categorize me, your opponent." He licks his lips and watches the Doctor's eyes flicker to watch hungrily. "Opposites attract," he whispers. His hot, moist breath curls into the Doctor's mouth. He waits for it, the Doctor's reaction, the mixture of his words and his actions.

"You chased me for so long…," the Doctor murmurs. "All of this time…"

"You were missing out? Well, yeah!" he grins.

"After all of those years, will you - are you going to-"

"Stay?"

The word hangs in the little space there is between them.

The Master hesitates. He gives a tiny nod, breathing, "for now."

The Doctor kisses him again; the Master's answer, however vague, has left him overwhelmed.

"Why?" he dares to whisper when they stop for air once more.

"Because," says the Master, whispering into the Doctor's ear. "If time ends, we can't do this." He pulls the Doctor to him, this time fumbling with buttons, pressing the Doctor to the console with his hips as they kiss, all tongues and heat and fire. They Master's skin sparks at the Doctor's touch, sending shivers down both of their spines.

"Master, our minds, c-can we?" the Doctor says aloud, asking polite permission. The Master doesn't answer him at first, waiting for it… "Please, Master." He grins widely and whispers, "Yes." They let down barriers then soak each other in, fumble for each others' minds. The Doctor holds the Master's forehead to his own like he needs the physical contact to get into his mind, letting his lungs scream from air and his body just live without the oxygen during another long kiss, letting the Master shove him brutally up against the console, letting fingers dig into his shoulders that will leave dark bruises. Everything has become stormy sparks and heat and raw need, the passion of years upon years, the tension building up between them violently for a long, heated moment, the anticipation of sparkling minds connecting at the edges and a fire building between the two pressed bodies -

Then someone knocks.


	10. Visitors

The Doctor freezes. The Master immediately knows that something is wrong and, cursing, backs away.

"D-did you hear how many knocks?" he asks wildly, looking from the Master to the TARDIS doors. The Master shakes his head negatively. "He will knock four times," the Doctor repeats breathlessly, "And then…I die. Is this it? Now? Why does it have to be _now_?" He runs his hands through his hair, making it stand up wildly. The Master sighs.

"Are you going to answer it? Since when did we land?" He looks at the scanner. "We must have... bumped into the controls. We're at location of the next fragment. And it's in…oh, _come on_. Doctor?"

But the Doctor is already heading towards the doors, his shirt and jacket immaculately smooth. The Master makes an attempt to stop him but gives up, choosing to remain behind the console instead.

The Doctor takes a deep breath and opens the doors, taking a step forward to peer out with morbid curiosity.

And is slapped in the face. With a hand, this time, which hurts an awful lot more than a piece of toast.

Then, someone wraps their arms around him and squeezes the air out of him in a hug that propels him a few feet back into the TARDIS.

"Donna?" the Doctor says incredulously through a curtain of red hair. He backs away. She blocks the threshold, and his view of the outside

"Hello, spaceman!" she grins back at his hesitantly joyful face. "Never do that again," she warns him harshly.

"Do what?" he asks in utter confusion

"Leave me like that!" Donna says loudly, slapping him again, before wrapping him in another hug.

"I'm sorry, but how are you -"

"Long story! Car accident, coma, my brain kind of sorted itself out…I mean, I've picked up some random bits, I like bananas a lot more, I can remember vague things like -"

"Where are we, anyways, and how did you -"

"- And I'm certain you failed your driver's test! How can you not - Oh, hello!"

The Master takes a peak out from behind the console, only to be spotted by Donna. He smiles with all the famous charm he used when he was running for Prime Minister.

"I see you've picked up his habit for babbling," he says snidely, not sure how to react to the situation. The Doctor turns to narrow his eyes at the Master, who winks in response.

"The Master is back?" Donna says flatly. "The beard-y one? With the stalking and failed evil plans..." She trails off at the look on the Master's face then looks back to the Doctor. "What is he doing here?"

"I thought you only knew vague things?" the Doctor says, arms crossed defensively.

"And I have the _vague_ feeling that you thought about him rather a lot over the years."

The Master snorts and sends a smug look to the Doctor.

"Are you two together yet?" She looks from the Master (who seems inconspicuously disheveled to the Doctor and suspiciously unkempt to Donna) back to the Doctor with a single raised eyebrow. The Master notes how like it is to the Doctor before he smirks at her, prompting a mischievously pleased expression that he's never seen on the Doctor (but wouldn't mind witnessing).

"Donna!" the Doctor says in protest.

"Come on, if I can tell from the vaguest memories, then -"

"Jack?" the Doctor says loudly, looking over Donna's shoulder. "Are we in Cardiff? Donna, do you work for Torchwood now?" The Master groans from behind the time rotor. Donna slips past the Doctor and properly into the TARDIS as the Doctor greets his friends outside excitedly. She approaches the Master, who is hiding his face in his hands.

"Hello. Nice to meet you?" Donna offers her hand. The Master peers at her through a gap in his fingers. "I guess not. I'm Donna."

"And I'm the Master," he sniffs her. "You're wrong, you know." It doesn't hurt to look at her, but it's still strange.

"Yeah, I know. Metacrisis."

"Oooh. Messy," he says. "What happened?"

"His hand," she nods in the Doctor's direction, outside the TARDIS. "It was cut off-"

"I know," the Master says impatiently. "Skip that bit."

"Well," She looks a little disheartened. "He was shot by a Dalek, and used the regeneration energy to heal himself, then channeled it back into the hand. Later on - it's a long story - the TARDIS was burning, I touched it. Metacrisis. Made another, half-human, Doctor. Half-Gallifreyan Donna. He erased my memories later on to save my life." The Master smiles, lost in thought.

"Two Doct-"

"Shut up, I'm not finished, there are more important things," she hisses. "We don't have much time until he finally convinces them that you're safe and comes in here to fetch us!" The Master tilts his head to the side, waiting. This could be interesting.

"All right," she begins, "I was crossing the street. I wasn't really paying attention, I was arguing with Nerys over the phone. A car came out of nowhere. At least," she takes a deep breath, her voice turning a little sad, "that's what they told me. I was in a coma for four months and two days. They couldn't figure out what had happened to me, there was so much activity in my brain." His eyebrows shoot up.

"You said he erased part of your mind," the Master says, trying to outsmart her. She talks very fast, even for a woman, he thinks.

"Not erased…just tucked the memories away. When I was in the coma, my brain tried to cope with that. One day, my brain activity went up, then stopped. The doctors told mum to shut me off, but Gramps wasn't having any of that. My…" she trails off, as if her words revive some sort of painful memory, "My heart stopped." He knows there is more to the story, because Donna is in front of him, clearly alive. He almost reaches out a hand to touch her arm, to make sure she isn't some sort of phantom, but he's very curious to hear the rest of her story before he even begins to debunk it.

"I'm not exactly sure what happened – they didn't see anything strange on security cameras – but the first thing I saw when I woke up-" she pauses again, contemplating her wording, "was your face."

"What?" he says loudly, then glances over at the Doctor. He's busy outside the TARDIS, talking to the others, and hasn't noticed yet (or is pretending not to).

"You were just looking at me. I didn't know who you were, and then this name just popped into my head, K -"

"That's enough. I know what it is," he says firmly. Donna looks at him hesitantly. "You have some of the Doctor's memories."

"You're in a lot of them. It's no wonder -"

"Listen to me," he growls, "I don't know what you think I did. I don't know if you even saw _me_. But let me make this clear. I did not do anything for you. I may not _ever_ do anything for you. It might have been your imagination, or a memory, anything. Do not expect me to be some different, changed man. I did not bring you back to life." Donna purses her lips.

"You're traveling with the Doctor, though," she points out, trying to copy his tone and mood, "if my memory serves correctly," she pauses to assert her point. "That is one thing you would never do. You _are_ different."

He leers at her, saying darkly, "You're smart. I like that. But don't think you know me from a few half-remembered recollections." She crosses her arms and glares at him. In the silence, a few voices carry in from outside and they both glance beyond the doors anxiously.

"Will you help me?" she asks quickly

"You still haven't explained to me why you need my help."

"I'm going to die," Donna starts.

* * *

The Doctor forces a smile when he sees the small group that's gathered outside the TARDIS. He has hardly met the Cardiff branch of Torchwood, as he's never much cared for the secret society. It had all started with Queen Victoria, years ago, and somehow the British institution had acquired a Cardiff base, led by Captain Jack Harkness and his team. He can admire his companion and his work towards saving the Earth (and Cardiff) from dangerous aliens, but cannot admire the work and policies of Torchwood. Some wounds that they caused ran too deep.

He tries not to stare too long at Captain Jack Harkness, his old friend and companion, as wrong and impossible as ever. He vaguely remembers Gwen, a seemingly nice woman. Of course, his face breaks into a real smile when he sees Martha, then into confusion when he notices Mickey beside her, hand in hand.

"Hello!" he beams.

"Doctor, it's great to see you," Martha smiles, coming in for a quick hug. "What are you doing here?" He takes a deep breath and tries to think. He looks around; they had landed in the deserted plaza in Cardiff, which presumably was nearby the Torchwood base.

"You know…same old-same old. I'm refueling," the Doctor nods. Jack raises an eyebrow.

"Are you traveling with someone?" he asks pointedly. He can't know, the Doctor thinks, the Master won't be revived for months on this timeline.

"Of course he is," Mickey says, sizing him up a bit more aggressively than the Doctor remembers Mickey ever being. He stares protectively at Martha, puffing his chest up a little bit. "Who else do you think Donna is talking to in there?" The Doctor turns and glimpses Donna's outline on the other side of the console. He has the strong urge to run and slam the doors, but he still needs to find the white-point star.

"So, you all work for Torchwood now?" he changes the subject.

"Yeah, I'm the medic, Mickey is the tin dog," she punches him in the arm playfully and the Doctor suppresses a smile, "and Donna has become an extra out in the field. She's brilliant."

"Is that all you've been up to?" he looks rather pointedly at Jack.

"Uh, yeah, it's just us six," he laughs a little nervously. The Doctor squints at him suspiciously.

"Six?"

"Ianto is in the Hub, making us coffees," he supplies.

"The Hub?" the Doctor raises an eyebrow.

"Our secret underground base. Wanna see?" Jack sends him a flirty smile, and the Doctor rolls his eyes.

"Very dramatic name. Actually, I kind of am here on business. Has anything come through the Rift recently?" It becomes clear to Martha that he's just there on business, not to visit them. Her jaw sets in disappointment and Mickey wraps a protective arm around her.

"Refueling, huh?" Jack says flatly, let down as well, "What trouble are you in now?" He hits the Doctor lightly on the arm, trying to relieve tension (well, one type of tension).

"I'm looking for a fragment of a crystal. It would be very small, like a diamond, but very, very important."

"I'll call Ianto, and see if he can find anything in the databases," Gwen offers. She seems glad for the excuse to step aside for a moment, but listens intently to their conversation.

"So, what about you two?" the Doctor asks, raising an eyebrow at their joined hands. Martha grins.

"We're engaged," she bubbles, holding up her hand to show him the ring. "We live here in Cardiff, obviously, since I left U.N.I.T. and Jack offered to take the two of us up. We're getting married in a week." They both look very proud.

"Congratulations!" the Doctor grins. It seems like only yesterday that Mickey was shooting the Doctor jealous, protective looks because of Rose. He's genuinely happy for them. "You two couldn't be doing bet -"

"Do I hear wedding bells?"

The Doctor spins around to see the Master grinning at them from the doors of the TARDIS. He continues, "Am I invited?" Donna stands by the Master's shoulder, a thoughtful look on her face.

The distinct clinking of a gun being cocked catches the Doctor's ears. He turns to see Martha, gun in hand, pointing it straight at the Master. Her face has turned to stone, hiding her shock and fear.

"Doctor, what is he doing here?" Martha asks.

"How are you still alive?" Jack asks the Master at the same time. He only leers at them.

"Please, don't, Martha, set down the gun!" The Doctor holds his hands forward, trying to calm the tension that has quickly built up. He can do nothing but stare in horror at the barrel of the gun.

"Is this him?" Mickey asks Martha quietly, but it's loud in the silence that has fallen.

"Yep, it's me! The Master," the Master grins, and steps out of the TARDIS. Donna takes his former place in the threshold.

"Stop it," the Doctor hisses quietly at the Master, "don't taunt them." The Master ignores him and stands firmly with his arms crossed.

"Here's the Freak," he says, nods exaggeratedly at Jack, "your precious ex-girlfriend," winks at Martha, "and…Hmm. The tin dog?" he asks, smirking. The Doctor's hearts sink when he realizes that Martha isn't practicing trigger safety. She's aiming to kill. He steps in front of her without thinking it over, shielding the Master. Martha visibly wavers, almost setting down the gun, then settles by taking her shaky finger off the trigger.

"Doctor…" she trails off weakly. The Doctor doesn't move. This isn't happening again, he thinks. They all freeze and stare at him, knowing exactly what message the Doctor is sending.

"Martha," the Doctor starts, still holding his hands aloft, as if they can ward off bullets. "I can explain everything. Just calm down." She doesn't move.

"Martha," Donna says softly, echoing the Doctor, "listen to the Doctor."

"Listen? You listen. You can't control him, can't trust him. Why is he here? Why isn't he restrained?" Jack says sternly. They're ganging up on him.

"If we all just calm do-"

"Put the gun down, Martha," a strangely calm command comes from behind the Doctor. They can scarcely believe that such a composed voice could come from the Master. He wants to turn and look at the Master, but he can't take his eyes off the barrel of the gun. It can't be Martha, he tells himself. Then he remembers the knocking, merely moments ago. His legs almost give out beneath him.

"Yeah? And why should I listen to you? Why shouldn't I just shoot you and stop you now?" Martha's stance is like a soldier's. The Doctor thinks to himself, what has he done to her?

"Because you'd have to shoot me first," the Doctor says darkly. Martha just looks at him, like he's a stranger.

"The Doctor is the only person who can stop me. You kill him…" the Master trails off. "You'll get to me eventually, but if you shoot him first it will be a very long eventually." Martha looks from the Master to the Doctor, waiting for his response.

"He's right," the Doctor mutters. "Listen to him."

"What?" Martha spits in disbelief. After a moment's hesitation, she lowers the gun, thinking, whose side is he on? What has happened to him?

"Let's go down to the Hub," Donna says wisely, stepping up to Martha as she slips her gun back in its holster. She wraps a comforting arm around her. Martha stiffens against her and she draws back slightly, trying to be delicate.

"I don't want him down there with all of that technology," Jack says quickly.

"He'll behave," the Doctor shoves his hands into his pockets and narrows his eyes at the Master, who nods in a lazy, exasperated fashion.

Jack sighs and halfheartedly begins to lead them away from the TARDIS. Gwen sees this as her moment to stop listening and speak, and steps beside him and tugs on his coat, stopping him in his tracks.

"Jack, are you sure about this?" she asks. His eyes say no, but another glimpse at the Doctor makes him nod his head. "Because you said that about John, and look what happened with that." Jack's eyes flare up.

"You think that I meant for that to happen?"

"From what I know about him," she inclines her head at the Master, who is now watching her carefully, "he is ten times more dangerous." Jack sighs.

"Go home to Rhys."

"Excuse me?" Gwen looks livid.

"If you're worried that he'll incapacitate us, go home. If you don't hear from me in a few hours, check back."

"Jack, you can't ask me to leave!"

"I'm not asking." His eyes, the eyes that express so much, the eyes she constantly has to remind herself to avoid but always fails, plead with her.

"Oh, alright. But I want to hear from you every two hours or so," she begins to back away. "Don't hesitate to call me if you need another hand." Jack looks at her with a hesitant smile.

"Don't worry. We've got the best," Jack calls to her retreating figure. He grins at the others, Mickey, Martha, Donna, and the Doctor; then frowns slightly at the Master. "Let's go," he says hesitantly, and continues towards the Bay.

The Doctor recognizes their location; he'd landed here the last two or three times he'd been in Cardiff. It seems very tourist-y for him. There aren't many people about, however; it's rainy and beginning to get dark. He wonders if Torchwood even operates during the daytime. With Jack's love of dramatics, it would make sense. He assumes that they're heading towards the entrance to the Hub, as Jack has called it. As much as he's disliked Torchwood, he wishes that he knew more about it.

The Master slides into step behind the Doctor after a few moments of silent observation.

"You don't hate me, do you?" He mutters out of the corner of his mouth, so none of the Doctor's nosy friends can listen.

"I told you," the Doctor replies.

"She wouldn't have shot you, anyways," the Master reassures him.

"What about the four knocks? That can't be a coincidence."

"Donna isn't a 'he.'" The Doctor stumbles a bit in realization.

" _He_ will knock four times," he groans. "Well, now I just have to watch out for men."

"Before you automatically think it's me, remember the part where you _don't_ hate me," the Master says.

They come to a halt in front of what seems to be a little office before the Doctor can answer. Jack opens the door and ushers them inside the crowded little place. A man in a suit is sitting behind a counter covered in tourist brochures, reading a local newspaper with a large headline concerning serial murders. The Master takes a moment to appreciate the clever alliteration (and the crime) before scrutinizing the small office critically.

"This is Ianto," Jack says, then introduces them all. They linger in the small room for an awkward moment, none of them comfortable enough to speak. Martha and Mickey feel too tense to do anything but stand there. Jack eyes Donna, her mouth tight as she is lost in her thoughts. A secret passage opens and they filter though the gap, Ianto lulling behind. The vault-like door rolls aside, and the metal bars part with warning lights that flicker off the Doctor's shocked eyes. The Master has been here before; when he explored the ruins during the year he reigned over the Earth, and looks less impressed.

The Doctor looks up and sees a large reptile flying above them, screeching and calling through the large, echoing canyon. "You have a pterosaur," he observes flatly.

"Does she have a name?" the Master asks curiously. He had briefly considered training the creature the last time he was here. She had nearly bitten his head off.

"Because everyone names their pet pterosaurs," the Doctor counters sarcastically.

" _Ahem_ , Ramsay," he replies.

"How did you-? That wasn't a pterosaur. And Charley named him."

"Girls, shut up!" Donna says, pushing them both aside to walk over to one of the computers.

"Her name is Myfanwy," Ianto murmurs as he appears behind the Doctor with a tray of coffees. The Doctor smiles and thanks him as he takes one. The Master declines, narrowing his eyes at Ianto.

"Fine. Can I have a pet vortisaur?" he asks the Doctor, who is about to retort snappishly when he catches Donna's eye.

"So this is Torchwood," he says loudly, ignoring most of the glares he's getting and looking around. "Nice place. Very big. Very secr - oh, hello! You certainly aren't keeping _this_." The Doctor is distracted by a particularly interesting piece of technology and begins arguing with Jack in an instant. Martha clears her throat.

"Doctor, can you please just explain to us what you're looking for?" She looks very impatient. The Doctor sighs, pockets the contested item, and walks over to her and Mickey. They're sitting in front of some computer screens that display everything from charts to CCTV.

"Recorded Rift activity with a very specific signal…here, allow me."

Mickey steps aside to let the Doctor begin, his fingers typing out advanced codes straight into the computer at speeds that Jack hasn't seen since Tosh. The group gathers around the computers in a semi-circle, watching the Doctor and trying to keep up. He finally finds the result he's looking for, and with a brief "Ha!" and a quick transmission of data from the computer to the handheld device he's already confiscated, he spins around in his chair, grinning. His smile slides from his face as he jumps hastily to his feet.

"Where's the Master?" he groans.

* * *

"Will it - do you think it will cause permanent brain damage?" Donna says. She is laying on Torchwood's medical examining table. The Master holds a scanner over her head, and is scrutinizing the readings that he sees. He shuts the machine off. She sits up on the cool metal table, trying not to think of all of the strange things that have been autopsied here, or…worse. It _is_ Torchwood.

"Probably not. I'm not an expert on biology." Except, by human standards, which is why she chose him. "I had a friend who was, but I never picked it up." The Master shrugs. He looks around the sunken medical wing of Torchwood with a repressed shiver. The tiles are damp underfoot and the air is musty, a pitfall of being underground. Pun intended.

"The Rani," Donna mumbles automatically, putting a hand to her forehead. They both sigh in disappointment at her reaction. He checks her pulse.

"If we can't keep him here any longer, you'll have to come traveling with us," the Master groans. She slides off of the table.

"Is that such a bad thing?" Donna asks, offended. She tries to keep her voice down.

"No, it's just -"

"You two! What are you doing down there?" Jack's voice booms over them from above. Donna and the Master look up to see Jack standing on the higher ground above them, his arms crossed.

"Giving him the grand tour while Space Boy up there flaunts his computers skills," Donna shoots back quickly. The Master appraises her again. She's a lot sharper than she looks, and not all of that is from the influence of the Doctor's mind.

"He's dangerous, Donna," Martha says to her as she climbs the stairs.

"Thank you," the Master says with his signature smile. Martha narrows her eyes at him.

The Doctor is standing a little ways from them, frowning at the Master. He holds up the handheld device, saying, "I found a way to track it," and, before the Master can reply, "but we need to talk." The Master rolls his eyes, crosses his own arms, and sighs.

"What?"

"Donna," the Doctor starts. She nods in instant understanding before he can even make a request, and leads them downstairs.

* * *

"You have to respect Torchwood, don't you," the Master laughs, "they send their visitors to the Weevil-infested-dungeons so they can talk in private."

"They're not called Weevils," the Doctor starts, pulling his coat closer about him in the chilly damp. "And listen."

"No," the Master growls, " _you_ listen." He steps forward and grabs the Doctor's shoulders, pulling him down and kissing him fiercely before stopping for air. He presses their foreheads together and hisses, "You need me. So don't lecture me about behaving and how you can track the crystal on your own. I'm coming with you whether you like it or not, not waiting in some run-down, dirty, obsolete _hole_ with your ex-girlfriends. It's a hell of a lot more dangerous than having me around."

The Doctor swallows and hesitates before pulling away. He has a point.

"Fine." He starts to walk away, and then tilts his head slightly to the side. "What was that for?" he asks.

"Wha-the kiss?" he says blankly. "I've wanted to do that since you said 'you'd have to shoot me first,'" he smiles, a shiver running down his spine. "Don't ever look at _anyone_ else that way again. It's not decent." The Doctor holds back a grin. "Oh, and, would you reconsider the vortisaur?"

The Doctor can't help himself; he kisses the mischievous look right off the Master's face.

* * *

"Donna, why did you send them to the cells? There's a perfectly nice conference room upstairs," Ianto points out.

"They don't know that," she says, rushing over to the computers and bringing up the CCTV. "Here we are!" They gather round reluctantly.

"There's CCTV in every room," Ianto continues.

"It's a Torchwood tradition," Donna says, hushing them. Everyone but Ianto gasps when the Time Lords kiss in the murky light. "Don't tell me that you haven't all been caught," she tries to bite back her smile. Ianto turns pink. "I think there's something in the air down there."

"God, I think I need retcon," Martha gasps, strangely unable to look away.

"I wish Rose could see this," Mickey laughs.

Jack is silent, his face caught between disappointment and some sort of twisted satisfaction. He says, "He's very aggressive, though, you'd think it would be an odd match." He chuckles as the Master slams the Doctor up against a cell. Martha shivers and turns away.

"It's like he's just wiped out everything that man has done." Mickey frowns and pulls Martha away from the screen and embraces her, rubbing circles into her back. He still watches over her shoulder.

"Gotta love Torchwood traditions," Jack says decidedly. They all laugh as Janet the Weevil roars from inside the cell, scaring the two men away from her cell wall. "Everyone has to participate."

Donna crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, glancing from Mickey and Martha to Jack and Ianto out of the corner of her eye. "Yeah," she says softly, "everyone except me."

* * *

"So, what have we got, Doctor?" Jack is playing the part of overconfident, methodical leader upon the Doctor and Master's return. The Master rolls his eyes at his overly serious tone. To his surprise, the Doctor also seems serious, and a little sad. He keeps his eyes trained on the handheld device he pocketed.

"It's in the sewers," he starts, to everyone's horror. "In a giant sort of cavern that they're connected to." He buzzes the sonic screwdriver over the device and grins in delight as a map appears around the blinking light that is the location of the fragment. "We'll have to get down into the sewers, then work our way there."

"The Weevils live down there," Martha says firmly, her hand flitting over her gun. The Doctor doesn't notice. "They're like monsters, brutal and violent. It'll be difficult."

"That's what we do, though, isn't it?" Donna answers her worries softly.

The Doctor looks around at the group with pride and satisfaction, saving his last anxious glance for the Master. Donna, Martha, Jack, the Master, and the Doctor all walk away from the safe lights of the Plaza with a spring in their step and the darkness of night at their heels.


	11. Underground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains minor violence and some gore.

"I doubt anyone has even been down in these sewers for years," Jack says dramatically as he lifts the manhole cover. They are standing around a manhole in a dark, foggy, abandoned street.

"Jack, they inspect these things fairly often," Martha points out.

"Yeah, but does anyone make it out alive?" His eyes twinkle and he shoves the metal cover aside. "Ladies first, then?" he smiles cheekily.

"Alright, the Master first then, yeah?" Martha smiles so the Doctor isn't quite sure if she's joking.

"Oh, if I must," he grumbles, then propels himself, catlike, down the ladder and into the darkness of the sewers. The Doctor hesitates and then follows him, leaving the other three to whisper at each other conspiratorially in his absence. He lands with a soft splash.

"This is disgusting," the Master says darkly. The Doctor pulls two torches out of his pocket and hands one to the Master.

"At least there isn't a fifty foot basilisk waiting for us."

"You'd just kill it with the sword of Gryffindor."

"I knew you were the heir of Slytherin."

"Are you two flirting with Harry Potter jokes?" Martha asks incredulously as she lands beside them.

"Nerds are nerds," Donna sighs, and then makes a noise of disgust when she jumps off of the ladder, causing a splash.

"Don't be so squeamish. This is one of the older sewers. It hasn't been used in decades because of the Weevil infestation." Jack plops onto the wet cement beside them and winces at the splash. "It's just water," he assures them, although it seems he's convincing himself.

Martha frowns as she flashes her torch around, saying, "I'm more worried about the Weevils. I can always buy new shoes."

The Doctor glances down at the Master's shoes and exclaims, "you're…you're wearing my trainers again! When did you even have time to change?" The Master only smiles wickedly.

"Oh god, I should've thought about that! These shoes are ruined! How am I supposed to afford a new pair?" Donna says with some horror. Jack's smile is visible even in the darkness.

"Donna, did I tell you that, as a temporary member of Torchwood, you are entitled to a salary…" The Master clears his throat to interrupt them.

"As fabulous as your shoes are," he says dryly, "I believe we have more pressing matters to get on to."

The Doctor's face glows in the light of the handheld. He points to the right.

"Allons-y!" He grins. The Master mumbles back something in French that the TARDIS doesn't translate and Jack pretends he doesn't understand.

* * *

The sewer is very dark and smells musty. Their flashlights travel over the stones, the waterlines, lime, mold, and the other disgusting elements that tinge them. Every so often, one of them will jump, thinking that a Weevil is lurking in the shadows, but nothing attacks them. They walk in mostly silence. Every movement and word echoes unpleasantly, and they don't want to attract any undue attention.

The Doctor and Master can see in the dark better than the humans, and are all the more cautious because of it. They've seen groups of Weevils in several adjacent tunnels, but haven't said a word. The Doctor imagines that he sees all types of things from his nightmares in the shadows, but he barely starts whenever the images pop up. The Master is merely irritated. The drums are getting steadily louder as they head towards the fragment. Besides, his biggest nightmare is walking alongside him, in the dark for certain.

They turn a corner and the beams of their torches fall upon blood, mixed with water. The Doctor stops, dead, throwing out his hand unconsciously to fumble for the Master's, to make sure he's still there. Jack darts forward.

A woman is lying on the wet ground, clearly dead, her neck twisted at an unnatural, sickening angle. The Master notes instantly that this is just random, senseless violence. Her face is mauled, her clothes covered in blood. He's the only one that doesn't glance away in absolute disgust. The Doctor stares at him for a second, asking with his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitches up when he knows that the Doctor needs his help in telling how fresh these wounds are. He knows very much, from experience and observation.

"She's been dead for a few minutes," the Master says quickly. "It'll still be nearby." He knows that a Weevil is behind this. One, by the look of it. The scent of alcohol - even over the disgusting stench of the sewers - is very strong. "She must have provoked a Weevil somehow." The Doctor opens his mouth, ready to correct his choice of name for the alien, when a snarling noise comes from the corner behind them.

The Doctor spins. The Weevil darts out of a crevice in the broken wall, snarling and growling. It's slightly taller and bulkier than a human, with leathery prunish skin and a hideously twisted face. It has fangs in its large mouth, dripping with saliva and blood. It's wearing plain coveralls that are ripped and dirty.

The Weevil darts forward to dive at the Doctor as his coat flaps around. The Master shoves him back, hard, and nearly snarls back at the creature. Martha and Jack dart over to them and the group corners the Weevil, forcing it back into the crevice it had hidden itself in.

"It's rabid. We'll have to kill it," Jack says, his voice hard and angry. He pulls out his gun.

"No, Jack, there has to be another way," the Doctor says. He's disgusted, yes, but the creature seems like an ignorant animal to him.

"Doctor, we're not talking about an invading alien race. Weevils kill without hesitation!" Jack argues.

"We don't like it any more than you do, Doctor," Martha agrees, pulling out her own gun. The Master eyes it warily. He decides it would be best not to state his opinion on the matter.

"I thought you just sprayed them with some sort of pepper spray," Donna says. Her voice echoes off of the stones.

"We haven't got the time to argue about this!" Jack's voice seems strained. The Weevil lunges forward suddenly, baring its teeth at the Doctor again. Instead of shoving him away, the Master steps forcefully in front of him, separating him from the Weevil. He growls, low, trying to imitate the language of the Weevil.

It only stares at him for a few seconds, its black, empty eyes boring into his.

And then it bows.

"What?" Martha breathes.

A grin spreads on the Master's face. His shoulders relax. The Doctor's face twists into hesitant relief and then horror from behind him.

"Well, of course -" Jack stops in mid sentence. The Weevil just runs away through the gap between Jack and the Master.

They look around suddenly, wondering what frightened it away so quickly.

"Doctor -"

Then the ground falls out from underneath them.

* * *

The Doctor is aware of one of the girls screaming and a few other yells. The ground, the walls, everything is moving. He hears a loud, rumbling noise. He thinks quickly: they're in an earthquake, and they're underground. This is Very, Very Bad.

The dead woman hasn't been dragged far; there must be a manhole nearby. He quickly spots the ladder and yells above the noise for attention. He grabs at the Master's arm, tugging him along, heading for the ladder like a lifeline.

Before he can reach it, the ceiling begins to cave in. He stops, his legs feel like jelly and the Master is jolted out of his grip. He yells, like a part of him as been cut off, and tries to follow the Master as best he can. All he can see is the rapidly jumping beam of his torch on the Master's heels. He catches up with him, reaches into his coat pocket, and slaps his extra TARDIS key into the Master's palm. They try to run together but it's impossible; their hands are torn apart and their yells drowned out by the sound of the collapsing rubble.

The Doctor is knocked down by a rock, then a body. He's about to shake it off when Jack yells in his ear, "Don't move!" Something sharp and hard hits him in the head again and he loses consciousness, the black of the sewers giving way to a new darkness as the earth finally stops moving beneath and around him.

* * *

Donna groans and sits up, only to be plagued further by a coughing fit.

"Donna, are you alright?" Martha comes slowly into focus, her concerned face dimly lit by torchlight.

"My head…" she mumbles, bringing a hand up to make sure it's still attached.

"Donna, look at me," she says, taking Donna's face into her hands and staring into her eyes. Donna nearly squirms away. "Okay, good, you don't have a concussion. Take it easy. I don't think anything is broken."

Donna sits up slowly and takes a look around. They seem to be trapped between a wall and a pile of rubble.

"What the hell was that?" she says, frowning.

"I don't know," Martha sighs. She presses a button on the side of her comm. Donna unconsciously feels for her own, but it seems to have fallen off of her ear in the confusion. "The comms are down."

"Are we trapped?" Donna says, not allowing herself any hope.

"Yeah, I think so."

Donna props herself up on a giant chunk of concrete, next to Martha. The beams of their torches are filled with dust. She swallows a cough and thinks about saying, "I wonder what happened to the others," but she doesn't dare say it out loud. Neither of them wants to think about that too hard.

* * *

The Doctor comes out of unconsciousness and wishes he was back in it. The air is full of dust, and it's dark, very dark. The blackness presses in on his eyeballs, making him feel claustrophobic. He takes a deep breath, warding away the feeling. He can feel the cool, damp ground beneath him and something heavy and soft covering him. With a jolt, he realizes that it's Jack, protecting him from the rubble, and shakes him off, feeling a pang as he rolls over onto the ground.

He tries to stand up, but is pushed back onto his hands and knees by a coughing fit. He takes a few deep, dusty breaths and turns to Jack's body. The Doctor sighs and stares at him for a moment, his every instinct warning him away, and waits for him to be dragged back to life.

With a gasp, Jack's eyes open and he comes back to life. He sits up and looks around, this eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. The Doctor realizes that his human eyes can't see as well as his own. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out an everlasting match, thinks better of it (oxygen), and turns on the extra torch he finds.

"Doctor?" Jack grabs his arm and looks around at the rubble trapping them. There's not much room, but the ceiling seems to be intact, thankfully.

"Where are the others?" he asks desperately. Jack is speechless. He takes a deep breath.

"They – I didn't see. They ran out of sight, and I just wanted to make sure you survived." The Doctor blinks.

He says quietly, in appreciation, "thank you." Then, he stands up and looks around, for anything, anything at all in the rubble trapping them. "Master? Donna? Martha?" he calls, listening intently for their voices. He sighs and shouts a final time, "Master?"

The Doctor retires and sits next to Jack, cradling his bruised and dusty knees in the small space. He looks dejected for a moment, and then perks up.

"Have you still got that wristband?" He asks, thinking that they could teleport out of there. He almost has his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket, but Jack shakes his head.

"It's broken."

"I can fix -"

"It's broken, and in my desk in the Hub."

"How convenient," the Doctor mutters. Jack glares at him.

"What's your brilliant plan of escape?" He shoots at the Doctor. He hesitates for a long moment.

"I gave the Master the key to the TARDIS," he admits guiltily.

"You _what_?" Jack's mouth grows dry.

"If I didn't make it out alive -"

"Who knows what he'll do now!" Jack runs a hand through his hair, much like the Doctor. "I hope to God that he's lying under a rock somewhere," he says cruelly.

"Jack!" the Doctor glares at him. "He could still rescue us!"

"Have you forgotten what he's done?" Jack's brow furrows. "Martha, her family, me… not to mention everything he did years and years ago. I've read the U.N.I.T. files! Heck, I worked for Torchwood back then!"

"In the 70's?" the Doctor asks.

"The 80's," Jack corrects him. They sit in silence for a moment.

"I just thought," the Doctor continues his thought suddenly, "if something happened to me, at least he would be able to get into the TARDIS."

"You forgot," Jack growls. "He's not like your other companions, Doctor. He is capable of anything."

"Is he capable of saving the universe?" the Doctor asks, still refusing to meet Jack's hardened eyes. He snorts. "If he takes the TARDIS and uses it to take over the universe, it doesn't matter." Jack looks at him in disbelief.

"It doesn't matter? How can you say that?"

"The universe will end anyways. If he has the TARDIS, then there's more of a chance it will be saved if I can't help. Without me, he's the only hope." The Doctor looks a little scared, although Jack can barely see it in what little light there is. A shiver runs down his spine.

"What do you mean?" He pauses to think, and put pieces together. Everything begins to form a blurry picture. "You never told us why you're here, and why you're traveling with him." The Doctor takes his own time to consider what to say to Jack. After all, they aren't going anywhere.

"The Time War."

"I've heard about it," Jack says, repressing a sigh, "legends and rumors."

"I ended it." Jack, a time traveler himself, takes a moment to appreciate this statement. Such a complex event ended by one man…no wonder there seems to be so much weight on his shoulders. The Doctor continues, more softly, "I destroyed it all, and I placed all of it inside a Time Lock, using a white-point star as a key."

"How can a star be a key?" Jack asked curiously.

"It's…it's not a star. It's more like a diamond. But it's more than that. It's an idea. A white-point star is a connection to Gallifrey, which makes it very temporally sensitive. I thought it was secure. You can't destroy an idea. So, I used it to lock the Time Lock," he pauses reluctantly, "and I threw it into the Rift."

"You what?" Jack is starting to see the Doctor's mistakes crumble around him, and he's losing his confidence.

"We've been searching for the pieces."

"And, let me guess, one of them is in the cavern." Jack rolls his eyes sardonically.

"And," the Doctor finishes seriously, "if something happens to me, the Master must continue."

Jack tries to connect all of the pieces, but they don't seem to match well in his head. He accuses, "You're leaving a lot out." The Doctor only appraises him coldly. He can't know that much, his brown eyes say. Jack wants to yell at him, before realizing he's much the same.

"There are some things…"

"I get it." A minute passes. The Doctor feels it tick distinctly away, like Jack's disappointment congealing on his skin.

"Now what?"

"We-lllll…"

"Stop it!

* * *

The Master feels the pain wrack through his body and calls out. The throbbing has a beat, _one-two-three-four_ , _one-two-three-four_. He grits his teeth and tries to breathe slowly, deeply, drowning out the pain with the roaring and rushing in his ears. It doesn't drown out the drums.

He had barely begun to climb up through the manhole when it had collapsed around him. He blinks the dirt out of his eyes and mentally checks to make sure he's alright. Nothing broken. His first priority done, he turns his attention elsewhere. Where once the Doctor's hand was is now dirt, dust, and something cool and metal. He realizes with a jolt that it's the TARDIS key.

"Idiot," he mumbles. His mouth is dry and gritty. He coughs again. When the coughing subsides, he sits up carefully, moving a few rocks that had nearly crushed him. It would have been such a shame if he had had to regenerate. He liked this body. After a few laborious minutes of tedious extraction, he stands on top of the rubble and looks around. The Earthquake was big, big enough to cause power outages. He looks up to see the stars laugh coldly at him, suddenly revealed by the lack of the city lights. He wants to turn them all to dust and laugh back at them, but he just stands there, the blood pumping hotly through his veins. Telephone wires spark on the ground around him, rubbish bins are scattered, and glass litters the street. Faintly, he can hear the sounds of crying and sobbing, sirens squealing towards unfortunate victims of the earthquake. It's enough for now.

This part of the city is devastated. There's a faint tinge in the air that tastes like lemon and iron on his alien tongue, and the smell of death in his nostrils. He calls out, several times, "Doctor?" He searches some of the rubble halfheartedly, but he doubts that he'll find him above ground. He swears. The Master stops in his tracks and closes his eyes to think for a long, all too loud moment.

He has the TARDIS key. He can use the TARDIS to find the Doctor, or to run away, or to do anything he wants. He hopes, which he doesn't often do, that the Doctor hasn't left the TARDIS on isomorphic. He thinks back, to when they first left it. Donna was able to use the controls, wasn't she? He hopes that it will work for him, although he's uncertain if Donna's unique biology would have anything to do with her luck.

It doesn't take him long to find his way through the streets of Cardiff like a lost drunk, weaving around the injured and the various displays of destruction. He doesn't ponder too long on what caused the earthquake; it's not his fault if he can't remember where the tectonic plates of this stupid little planet are. His own planet had developed the technology to avoid such disasters hundreds of years ago. Finally, he hesitates in front of the TARDIS before realizing that Torchwood will probably be on him any second, asking where the Doctor is and what he's done (of course they'd blame him). The Master puts the key in the lock, takes a deep breath, and steps inside.

* * *

"I'm sorry, Rhys, you're going to have to stay here, okay?" Gwen glances at her phone and reads the message from Ianto. "It's the Rift, and Weevils are going to be running loose. You'll be safer in here."

"The Rift? That was an earthquake, Gwen!" Her husband throws his hands up. "You won't be safe."

"I know, Rhys, okay. But someone has to." Rhys sighs and watches Gwen grab her gun.

"I love you," she says, pausing before she runs out the door, kissing him quickly.

"I love you too. Now, be careful!" he yells at her as she leaves him alone. Gwen looks at her phone. It's Ianto again.

"The comms aren't working," he says immediately. "I'm outside, in the car. I can't get into contact with Jack, Martha, or Donna. There probably was a cave-in." He sounds worried. Gwen rushes down the dark staircase. The electricity flickers on and off, giving the building an eerie feel. She exits it as quickly as she can.

"Something is happening with the Rift," Mickey says the moment she slams the car door shut. He's in the back, typing away at his laptop, as usual. "It's not just any old thing, though. This is fairly isolated on the scale, even though it seems to be part of a bigger event." Gwen twists and puzzles over the graphic he's pulled up for her benefit.

"It looks like one of those iTunes visualizers when you play techno music," she comments.

"Yeah, but this is us," Mickey says, pointing to a hole in the wavy, multicolored graphic on the screen. "This is a lot bigger than just the Rift, sweetheart."

"Whatever it is, the Weevils are going mad," Ianto says, swerving to purposely hit one that's run in their way. He slams on the breaks.

"And we're missing five people, somewhere underground?" Gwen feels a little overwhelmed. She clicks out of her seatbelt and gets out of the car to assist Ianto in detaining a few Weevils. She hears a beeping noise coming from Mickey's wrist.

"And the TARDIS has just disappeared," he says laboriously, spraying a Weevil directly in the face with Torchwood's special spray.

"We're on our own," Ianto says, throwing an unconscious Weevil into the back of the Torchwood SUV.

"We're Torchwood," Gwen says firmly. "We can handle this."

But it's so much bigger than them.

* * *

I had a friend once," Jack starts. The silence has only begun to press in on them again when he speaks, finally having figured out what to say. He continues, "He wasn't the nicest guy. But, well, you know me," he grins cheekily, "we were kind-of-married." The Doctor barely raises his eyebrow. He knows what bush Jack is beating about, and wishes he would leave it alone. "Actually, stuck in a time loop for about two years."

"That's what you get for joining the Time Agency," the Doctor teases dryly.

"The thing is, Doctor, I never trusted him. He showed up again, and I still didn't. I was right to be careful. Yeah, he saved my life once or twice, but he was very, very flawed. You have to be careful, when they're dangerous and clever. You can't forget what people are capable of." He tries to really look at the Doctor, but he's staring at the ground, his glossy eyes very far away.

"You are the last person I'd choose for a couple's therapist, Jack," he says finally.

"Aha! You admit it!" His triumph is dampened by the strange look on the Doctor's face. He doesn't recognize it. One moment, it's sad and reflective, the other, it's almost happy and yet so drenched in that endless, nostalgic sadness that the Doctor carries on his shoulders.

"I haven't really…talked about it with him, Jack," he admits guardedly.

"Maybe you should. And maybe you should think about it, too. Have you forgotten it all? Have you forgiven him of it all?"

"No," the Doctor answers, "and yes." Jack looks taken aback by this firmness. The Doctor's mouth becomes a thin line. "I can never forget what he's done. I am reminded of it every time I look at him," he sounds like he's in such pain, guilt, and rebounded unwanted pity eating away at him. "And yet, I have to forgive him, because that's what I do, and I can't…" his voice fades away and he runs his hands through his hair several times, scratching at an old itch.

"So, what? You just forget that? You refuse to talk it over with him? You don't run from your other battles, why choose to be the coward in this one?" Jack seems so disappointed, so angry at him. The Doctor doesn't know what to say to quell both of their fears and inner turmoil.

The Doctor looks like he's going to break and cry. His voice pitches into a strain, the walls seem to squeeze him in closer. He doesn't know if he should say this, but it's Jack, and he knows Jack, and he wants Jack to tell him how wrong he is. The muscles of his arms tighten, and he admits, in a very small voice, "I don't know what to do. I always run. And I have to run from this, because it'll be over the second we save the universe. He'll leave, no matter how hard I try and keep him. And we'll meet again, over and over, and nothing will ever change. Because, it's always a battle, and that's all it ever will be."

The air is filled with the crumbling of rocks, distant sirens, and their breathing.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" Jack says very, very quietly.

The Doctor doesn't deign to reply.

And Jack feels like his simple human heart is breaking again.

* * *

"If we're stuck here long enough, I might miss my wedding," Martha says, to break the silence.

"You could always reschedule," Donna says softly.

"Yeah…" she chuckles after a reflective moment.

"Are you going to invite the Doctor?" prompts Donna. Martha answers immediately.

"He'll want to bring _that man_."

"You don't want to put your family through that, I understand."

"We'll probably have enough trouble as it is, considering Torchwood's history with weddings." Martha's face falls. Donna can hardly make out the lines of her face, but she seems upset. Donna takes a deep breath and tries to form her words carefully, feeling very self-conscious.

"You don't seem so excited," she says gently, eyeing Martha closely.

"It's just that, with Tom, I was just so sure, yeah? And then he left me, Donna." She takes a shaky breath, forcing away the tears in her throat.

"I was almost married, once."

"Can I ask what happened?"

"The Doctor happened." Martha nods, as if she understands, but Donna continues. "He was just using me to help bring back this ancient alien race of spiders called the Racnoss."

"Tom Milligan was killed by the Master in an alternate chain of events."

"If it wasn't for the memories I have," Donna taps on her temple, speaking of the Doctor's memories inside her own, "I would really hate that man." Martha blinks several times. Donna watches a muscle in her neck tighten with her jaw.

"Who do you think he is, Donna?" She asks, unable to comprehend her opinion.

"I don't know. He was a friend in the beginning, but so many things happened. I think I pity him."

"Do you think the Doctor will ever see who he is?" Donna closes her eyes.

"He knows. And it makes him very, very sad. But, mostly, I think he just wants to right his wrongs."

"I think I pity the Doctor," Martha mumbles.

"I hate being able to see inside of his head. It messes up my own feelings." Donna looks at her hands and picks absently at one of her overlarge rings, trying very hard not to trace the outlines of Martha's face in the semi-darkness.

"Are you going with them, then?" Martha asks. It takes her a moment to realize that she's still talking about the Doctor and Master.

"I might, for a bit. I'll sneak aboard if he doesn't let me. Who knows? They probably have a reason for traveling together. There always is one. Probably one of the Master's evil plots gone awry," she says absently. She takes a deep breath and tries to muster a smile for Martha. "Are you still getting married, then?" she asks.

The corners of Martha's mouth turn up.

"Yeah."

"I'll be back in time for your wedding," Donna assures her, smiling widely, but this smile, like the Doctor's, doesn't reach her sad eyes. She doesn't plan on coming back. Not for that.

* * *

He's surprised that the TARDIS even let him in. She doesn't seem to recoil at his entrance, as he's felt her do before. The Master, feeling wary yet hurried, walks up to the console. Tentatively, he sets a hand upon the console. When she doesn't shock him, he sets to work, adjusting the controls. He sets the TARDIS to scan Cardiff for two-hearted beings, refines it to the Doctor (it's amazing how many aliens there are in Cardiff alone) and checks his location. He's trapped underground, as he thought, in a small cavity that has barely enough room to let the TARDIS materialize and rescue him. He sees Jack's single, wrong heartbeat register in the space beside the Doctor and sighs in annoyance. Of course.

The Master turns on the scanner, bringing up a live video feed of the pair, with the intention of informing them that he's coming to rescue them and move out of the way. He decides that that would make him sound like a prat and is about to say something much less heroic, but he catches the first few snatches of conversation and stops.

 _"And yet, I have to forgive him, because that's what I do, and I can't…"_ The Doctor's voice comes through loud and clear. It sounds strange, echoing through the wide room.

 _"So, what? You just forget that? You refuse to talk it over with him? You don't run from your other battles, why choose to be the coward in this one?"_ Jack's scolding voice comes through even louder, stinging his ears. He frowns. They're talking about him. He wants to interrupt, but he's also morbidly curious. He adjusts the volume.

 _"I don't know what to do. I always run. And I have to run from this, because it'll be over the second we save the universe. He'll leave, no matter how hard I try and keep him. And we'll meet again, over and over, and nothing will ever change. Because, it's always a battle, and that's all it ever will be."_ He swallows, the emotion in the Doctor's voice and face causing his mouth to dry. He looks so sad and scared, unlike the many ways the Master has seen him. He's seen him upset; of course, he's seen him angry, yelling, fighting, and being magnificent. But he's never seen the Doctor looking so openly broken. It's almost beautiful. The Master nearly turns on the speakers to announce his presence (he also wants to say, 'no, it won't be over that soon, I'm not going to stop harassing you,' but even he can't be sure of that) and break the silence.

 _"You're in love with him, aren't you?"_

The Master stops breathing. He turns off the scanner with the pounding of a single button. He runs around the console haphazardly, almost falling over his own feet, the muscles and nerves of his body tight and numb. No, no, no. He mustn't think. He needs to get to business and ignore the Doctor's stupid emotions and Jack's stupid interpretations. The Master takes a slow, steady breath and sets the TARDIS to make a jump into the small space. He begins to gain some of his composure as the TARDIS dematerializes.

And falls into the Rift.

* * *

"What about you, Donna?" Martha asks gently. She's been watching the other woman for a few minutes. Her face is sad and contemplative. "What are your plans for the future? Long term?"

"I don't know," Donna admits. "I tried to plan and it never worked out. I think I'll just go with the flow from now on. Now, I think I'll try to make a life for myself out there, in the stars." There's this strangely archaic way of speaking that she has adopted from the Doctor that only shows when she speaks about the greater universe.

"What were you planning?" Martha asks, quickly adding, "If you don't mind me asking." Donna shrugs.

"No, it's fine. It wasn't much. I'd get a job as a secretary, fall in love with my rich boss, marry him and live happily ever after."

"So?"

"So what?" Donna looks at her. "Obviously it was a stupid dream. Too _Thoroughly Modern Millie_."

"But, did any of it come true?"

"I was a temp, and I almost got married. But it didn't work out well."

"Nothing ever does," Martha mutters. "What about love? I know how rocky that can be. But there's still hope. You can always fall in love."

"I think I'm done with that for awhile, actually," Donna says. She hesitates, concentrating on her fingernails as she speaks, "no one ever seems to have time for me."

"There are plenty of fish in the Bay, Donna," Martha shrugs. "There's Liam from the pizza shop. Or Ashley, who's always sketching something or other. What about Shaun? He asked you out for drinks, didn't he?"

"It just seems strange, going back to dating after everything I've seen. You and Mickey, Jack and Ianto, you can share that. I…can't." She sighs heavily, avoiding Martha's eyes.

"You just have to be open to it." Donna smiles weakly.

"Yeah."

"I mean, look at the Doctor. Even he's got someone, though he might not be happy and it's sick and twisted and…ugh. Sorry."

"It's a lot more than that, Martha," Donna says, finally looking at her. "They have an entire history that we're barely skimmed the surface of."

"It just proves my point. There's someone for everyone." Donna just shakes her head and watches Martha stare at her wedding ring as they lapse into silence.

* * *

The TARDIS stops rumbling and protesting long enough to land somewhere. The Master feels like a piece of driftwood, finally beached. The door creaks when he opens it, revealing a hospital room. He swears loudly. The Master thinks back…the earthquake must have been something to do with the Rift. The taste in the air makes sense now. There had been earthquakes there before, in the past. He had known that the Doctor was there then, but it was before his reign as Harold Saxon, and he hadn't much cared for taunting the leather-jacketed Doctor.

The Master looks around and catches sight of a redhead lying on a hospital bed, the sound of her monitor flat-lining eerily. He expects to hear rushing nurses and doctors, but she seems to be nearly forgotten. Then, he knows, he knows what he has to do, because the infuriating woman has already told him everything.

The Master pulls a case out of his pocket. What was meant to be the second dose is the real first. The liquid within the syringe sparkles menacingly in the harsh fluorescent lights. It's a sort of mixture of the artron and huon energy that she had removed from the heart of the TARDIS. The Doctor had been outside, talking to his friends when he had told Donna what to do. The Master wasn't allowed to get anywhere near her precious heart.

He takes a deep breath and injects the energy into her veins. It takes a moment, but she breathes in deeply and opens her eyes to stare at him. He hears the sounds of footsteps, finally, and hurries into the TARDIS. It dematerializes without a word from him, leaving a very shocked Donna to ponder over events for a few more months.


	12. Rescue and Risk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains some violence and gore.

The TARDIS arrives with a very loud whooshing noise and a lot of stirred-up dust. Jack and the Doctor stand up and press against the walls of rubble to give it room to land. The doors squeak open, and the Doctor's knees go weak with the wonderful creaking noise that promises either the safety of home or the twang of adventure. The Master appears in the doorway, crossing his arms as if he owns the place and trying to look impressive.

"You owe me," he nearly spits at them, trying to hide an ironic smile. It's not the kind of victory he's used to, but outsmarting these two always makes him cheerier. Even if he hasn't really done much except pilot the TARDIS more successfully than the Doctor (which isn't hard). The Doctor nearly runs into the TARDIS with a huge grin and turns his back on the two as he makes his way to the console, immediately checking to make sure the Master hasn't done anything to her. There's the sparkle of a question in his eyes when he checks the log, but he saves those questions for later.

"Okay," the Master says, glaring at Jack, who had just crossed the threshold and closed the doors behind him. "Now, to find the fragment."

"Donna and Martha come first," the Doctor insists. The Master sighs in exasperation.

"Time is unraveling!" he protests.

"They come first." He glares at the Master. So much for getting on the Doctor's good side.

"Now," he continues, jumping back to his usual, lighter tone as he bounces around the TARDIS console, his excitement of leaving the enclosed space making the grating of the floor rattle. He speaks mostly for Jack's benefit, as the Master knows the workings of the TARDIS better than even he. "If I just track TARDIS residual energy, as in, the background radiation you get from traveling in a Type 40 –" the Master mutters something about this TARDIS being inferior to his old one and dodges a kick from the Doctor "- then we can find them." Jack almost asks what they're all thinking, 'then what?', but leaves it be.

The Master crosses his arms and lets the Doctor get to work on his own. He doesn't want to be interfering with the Doctor's precious time machine more than he's welcome to. Jack crosses his arms and stands beside the Master, watching him closely out of the corner of his eye.

"Freak," the Master nods at him, like it's his name. Jack ignores him and crosses his arms.

"Listen," he says softly by harshly, so the Doctor cannot hear, "If you so much as lay a finger on him -"

"You'll never be able to do anything about it," he says truthfully. A sly smile plays on his lips. Jack wishes they would've executed the Master in the first place, despite everything the Doctor had said. They eye each other for a long, tense moment, the air becoming icy from their hatred. Jack is wrong in the Master's eyes, his very existence, a Fact, screams at him.

The Doctor breaks their awkward silence with a whooping noise.

"Found them!" he sighs, looking relieved. "Both trapped in a little cavern of rubble, like Jack and I. Both very much alive, safe, and sound." Jack takes a moment to force a half smile in his own relief. "I can just-" he presses a few buttons on the scanner and hesitates, before setting the video link to Martha and Donna's location. Their voices fade in and out on the scanner. The Master feels his chest tighten. He hadn't changed the settings on the scanner, and now the Doctor knows he had been listening.

The Doctor clears his throat, pounds on the speaker button, and starts to announce their arrival to the girls, forcing his voice to sound normal and happy. It hardly wavers at all.

* * *

Martha and Donna blink the dust from their eyes as the TARDIS materializes inside their prison of rubble. The doors open and they stumble inside.

"Is everyone alright?" Martha asks quickly, looking around. Donna breathes deeply and closes her eyes as she leans against the doors. It's good to feel safe again. The Doctor is standing at the console, staring absentmindedly at the scanner, his hands in his pockets. Jack looks tense and stony. The Master is watching the Doctor with a curious expression on his face. Donna wonders if they've been fighting again.

"Well, aren't you a cheery bunch!" Donna says loudly. The Doctor shares a small smile with her and takes a moment to hug them both, making sure that they aren't injured.

"What about the others, up in the city?" Martha turns to Jack. The stuffy silence in the TARDIS is a little unnerving.

"The comms are back up. I checked awhile ago with Mickey, Ianto, and Gwen, and they're all fine. The Weevils were running wild, but they're quieting back down," Jack replies. He squints at the Doctor.

"What happened?" he asks, assuming the Doctor must know. But it's the Master who answers.

"Something came through the Rift. Although, I'm starting to think that wasn't the case." He saunters over to the scanner on the console. The Doctor looks surprised.

"You mean…it's starting."

"What's starting?"

"Starting? It began a long time ago."

"Is this the thing you were talking about?"

"That's impossible, we would have felt it."

"Doctor, what aren't you telling us?"

"You said you were working on that!"

"QUIET!"

Donna's voice rings around the TARDIS in the silence that follows. She turns on the Doctor and points an accusing finger at him. "Explain."

"But, Donna, they -"

"Don't get sassy with me, spaceman; they have a right to know. You've endangered all of us."

"It's very -"

"Time is falling apart," the Master blurts out. The Doctor looks almost wounded, but the Master spares him only a glance. "When he put the Time War in a time lock, he sealed it with a diamond and hid it in fragments. Something broke though and now we have to fix it to avoid Time unraveling."

Martha stares at the pair for a long moment. She blurts, "You're both mad," but she's holding back a smile. "So, why is he traveling with you, then?" She turns to the Doctor, not sure she wants to know the answer. The Doctor looks sideways at the Master, who looks impatiently back at him.

"I heard a prophecy," he begins to explain again. The Master raises his eyebrows. "Something was returning." He lowers them. The Doctor isn't telling them he's going to die, which is probably for the best. He knows who they'll suspect first. The Doctor continues stiffly, "he was resurrected before I could handle the situation. I found him, the resurrection had gone wrong, and I promised to heal him in exchange for his help. It turns out; the Master is the only one who can track the fragments." They all stare at him, a little flabbergasted.

"Boy, you sure do dig yourself into holes," Jack comments.

"So, if you would let us carry on, we'll find the fragment and get out of your lovely hair." The Master eyes Donna's hair and wonders how masochistic the Doctor is to have travelled with a ginger.

Martha glares at the Doctor, but the rest of them fall silent. Donna sits on the pilot's chair sulkily, watching Martha out of the corner of her eye. The Doctor observes this while under the pretense of checking the TARDIS scanner, and is surprised to see the Master slide onto the seat beside her and murmur a few things.

"You two, help me set the coordinates." They know perfectly well that he doesn't need help, but they come over anyways. "Now," he says, crossing his arms and turning on them. "What have you been up to?" Donna looks guilty instantly, but the Master just gives him a small smile before looking bored.

"Okay," she sighs, giving in to the Doctor's hurt brown eyes. "I was getting help from him. I needed Huon and Artron energy in regular doses to sustain my brain." The Doctor's eyebrows shoot up as he turns on the Master.

"What have you been doing to my TARDIS?" he growls. The Master looks exasperated.

"She was happy to help Donna. I did not hurt your precious ship at all. We're done with the doses, anyways. I accidentally fell through the Rift and ended up back in her hospital room a few months ago. Her heart had stopped, so I injected her with the syringe I had. The injections aren't necessary any longer. Didn't take as long as I thought. She's in perfect health. A bit Gallifreyan, but that can't be helped." The Master feels a little embarrassed that he has been caught helping one of the Doctor's precious little friends, but even that can't stop the satisfaction of the look on the Doctor's face when he realizes what they've been up to.

" _A bit Gallifreyan?_ " He hisses.

"Yeah, it's nothing much. And I have some of your memories. And banana cravings. And…other things," she stops herself suddenly, glancing at the floor. "Although I'm not sure what's yours and what's mine…"

"Um, excuse me," Martha interrupts, breaking herself away from a whispered conversation with Jack. "Doctor, shouldn't we be leaving now?"

"Yeah, will you two help?" He doesn't want to end this conversation just yet. He pulls a lever and they dematerialize

"I can help you with the TARDIS now?" the Master says in mild surprise. "Are you sure that's wise, in current company?"

"You've had at least three chances to run off with it," the Doctor points out. "Right now, with half of Torchwood, not to mention myself inside, I don't think you're stupid enough to try anything." The Master smiles and flips a few switches that the Doctor never uses, but really, really should.

"Don't act like you're going to leave, because you're not," Donna supplies in a very Doctor-ish tone. "Ugh," she makes a face, "you keep popping up in my head. It's very distracting."

"Donna," the Doctor starts in a low tone, trying to exclude the Master from this part of the conversation, "why didn't you ask me for help?" She sighs and answers immediately, still piloting the TARDIS with the two Time Lords.

"Because, Doctor. You think with your hearts, and the Master thinks with his head."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that sometimes you have to forget what you feel when you're acting on a situation."

"And you think that I would have been blinded by my own emotion?" the Doctor is trying very hard not to show his growing anger when he looks at her from across the console.

She meets his eye and answers clearly, "look to your right." He turns his head, meets the Master's eyes, and then lowers his. She knew him; she knew exactly what to say to prove that she was right to choose someone that would be willing to try anything to save her, even against all odds. The Doctor wouldn't have dared to risk her life and would have erased her memories again.

The Master scrutinizes Donna, wondering just how much she knows about the Doctor's emotional attachment. Is it really that strong? He doesn't know what to think of it; typical Doctor. After a stuffy, terse moment passes, he finally speaks.

"Where are we landing?"

"In the cavern." The Doctor presses a few buttons.

"Then, why do you need my help, exactly? Other than you being incompetent," The Master pulls a lever down for emphasis. The Doctor pushes it back and glares at him. "Okay, keep the brakes on," he mutters back.

"Because. My TARDIS requires six pilots. We have half that. But frankly, we're brilliant, and we need a smooth landing."

"Why didn't we just land there in the first place?" the Master adjusts a few stabilizing settings that he doesn't think the Doctor has ever even used. He's pretty sure they're dials from toaster ovens. Damn toasters.

"It's not my fault," he shoots back. "I only had basic coordinates set."

"It's not my fault, either. She was on isomorphic."

"And how did that get turned off, exactly?"

"And how did the accidental pressing of a few buttons land us in Cardiff, exactly?" the Master shoots back. He knows that he's in enough trouble for helping Donna already, and doesn't need it for messing further with the TARDIS. He vaguely hears Donna mumble something about not wanting to listen to them bickering like a married couple and lowers his voice.

" _'He was resurrected before I could handle the situation,'_ " the Master imitates the Doctor. " _Handle_ the situation. What did you mean?" he asks the Doctor out of the blue. He flicks a few switches.

"I don't –" the Doctor flips all of them back. "I gave them the edited version," he replies quietly, casting a glance at the apparently oblivious Donna on the other side of the console, and the whispering pair by the doors.

"What would you have done, if you would have arrived in the middle of my resurrection? Or did you overshoot it on purpose? Did you know? They all died," he says offhandedly, watching the Doctor's face carefully. It doesn't waver.

"I hadn't thought of that yet." The Doctor is stony faced and serious.

"Oh, really?" the Master crosses his arms and leans against the console, blocking the control that will allow them to land precisely where the Doctor wants them too. He can hear the drumbeat growing louder and louder as they near the fragment. "Why did you even offer to help me in the first place? Why do you want my help? Why do you want me around?" He looks into the Doctor's eyes, which are holding back some kind of ancient sadness in their brown depths. "You heal people, and I do the exact opposite to everything I touch. You always defeat me. You don't just stand by my side and work with me. You always run! So why are you letting me pilot the TARDIS and travel with you and be near your friends and be let loose on Earth and why, in the name of this putrid planet, are _you_ so scared of _me_?"

"I'm not having this conversation right now," the Doctor says after a pause. He reaches around the Master to land the TARDIS.

"Are you ever going to?"

"I don't think you really want to know, Master. So stop asking, and let's save the universe." The Doctor spares him a final look before turning to the others and forcing a smile onto his face. The Master sighs and crosses his arms.

Jack and Martha become silent when the Doctor walks over to them, with concerned expressions. Donna had just joined them.

"Are you alright?" Donna asks quietly.

"Doctor-" Martha starts halfheartedly. Jack just looks at him. He brushes their glances away and slings on his jacket. "How are you going to see out there?" she asks weakly.

"I've set the TARDIS light on high; it'll light up the entire cavern." They look blankly at him.

"Come on," he forces another smile and opens the door. Then closes it quickly. Sighing and covering his face in his hands, he turns around and says, "It's crawling with Weevils."

* * *

Jack instantly dives into masterminding a plan of attack.

"How many?"

"Well…"

"How many?"

"Maybe a hundred, maybe more," the Doctor admits sheepishly. "The cavern is pretty large, the size of a church. And it's covered in them. I didn't see much, I was afraid one would notice me."

"So they don't know that people are down here," Jack sighs. "They won't be expecting it."

"No," the Doctor says forcefully.

"Doctor, that's the only way –"

"No. You aren't killing them. They are innocent creatures."

"They're blood-thirsty aliens!" Jack protests.

"And what if they were blood-thirsty humans?" he starts. "If they looked human, that would make a difference, wouldn't it?"

"Doctor, don't be like that. You know -"

"He's right," Martha says suddenly. Looking up at the Doctor, she repeats, "He's right. They aren't human, Jack, but that doesn't mean they aren't innocent. They've been sent through the Rift against their will. We don't even know where they come from or what their natural state is. They might just think that we're the villains. We have to treat them with respect."

"They're not always like this," Donna says. The Doctor looks surprised before remembering that she shares some of his knowledge. "They are peaceful creatures, really. The Rift must drive them mad. They're time sensitive."

"The cockroaches of the universe," the Master drawls loudly, sauntering down the ramp to the crowd. "Besides humans, of course."

"Why don't we send him?" Jack suggests enthusiastically.

"Actually, I was planning on going, Captain. I'm the only one who can find it in that mess."

"No," the Doctor says quickly.

"I'm not arguing with you."

"You aren't -"

"I am."

It's settled.

"Fine," the Doctor says, carefully controlling his expression. "But Martha, Donna, and Jack, you're staying here."

"I'm not," Jack protests. "I can't die."

"Jack -"

"Stop it, all of you," Donna sharply interrupts. "Stop arguing. It's all we've done since you arrived. It shouldn't be like this. Martha and I will stay here." She ignores Martha's protest. "You three will find the fragment. No arguing. Now, work out what you're going to do."

After much deliberation, they work out a strange strategy with complicated maneuvers and Weevil repellant. They steel themselves for a moment; Jack, the Doctor, and the Master before the TARDIS doors, Jack going first. The Doctor turns to look at the Master, about to say something, when the Master grabs the lapels of his jacket and kisses the words off his tongue. The Doctor looks uncharacteristically worried for someone who's just been snogged, but before the Master can say a word, Jack has opened the doors carefully with a pointed, purposeful look. They tense. The Doctor expects Weevils to come streaming through the TARDIS doors.

But they're all asleep.

The cavern is immense and very dark. There are Weevils everywhere on the ground, huddled up in masses, snoring and growling. The only light is that which is given off from the TARDIS' lamp; it is bright enough and the Time Lords' eyes good enough to see the cave very well. Jack inhales sharply from what he can see in the dim light.

The plan changes instantly and silently. Now, they must creep in silently and try to find the fragment. The Weevils are sleeping curled up on the ground, snoring and growling in their sleep. Jack's stomach sinks. He's never seen so many Weevils in his life. There must be over two hundred. The Doctor steps over them, very carefully, following the Master, who is already near the middle of the cavern. Jack takes a deep breath and follows them, taking great care not to wake one.

The Master's drumbeat grows louder and louder with every step. His grin grows with it, in light of their current position. There are Weevils everywhere. There will most certainly be blood.

If the Doctor is concerned about the Master's strange glee, he doesn't show it. He steps carefully over Weevils and tries not to get lost in the heavy silence.

Suddenly, the Master stops. He sees something, the Doctor thinks, and freezes as well. He waits for the Weevils to wake up and attack, waits for them to rip at his clothes and his flesh. Below him, one sniffs the air, like it can smell the Time in his footsteps. The Doctor watches the Master carefully from over a dozen feet away, wishing and hoping that he's found it so they can escape with their lives.

The Master examines the skeletons closely. Skeleton would be too strong a word, perhaps a pile of bones is more accurate. He assumes that the fragment is among them, and carefully begins to sort through the ghastly mound. The drums grow louder and louder, and he's reminded of his days in the wasteland, gnawing at human bones. He feels disgusted for a moment, then the drums beat it away and he finally clenches his fingers around his prize.

It's a bone from a human finger, but he's more concerned with the ring around it. Some fool has set the white-point star fragment into a ring. It looks peculiar. Obviously they hadn't been able to cut it, but someone had still tried. He holds it up to the light.

The drums drop away from him so suddenly he can't breathe for a moment. They've never been this quiet. He turns to the Doctor, who has caught up beside him.

It's a Weevil.

He jumps and curses himself. The Weevil sniffs him, like a dog would sniff another of its kind. It bows, like the one in the tunnels before. It feels like a long time ago now.

"Of course," Jack mutters from across the cavern. The Doctor's eyebrows knit. The Master's face lights up.

The Weevils suddenly begins to emit a growling noise that makes them all want to cover their ears. The Master's face falls.

The Weevils awaken.

* * *

The Doctor cries out as the Weevils fly towards him. Jack, no longer afraid of waking one of the monsters, flings himself towards the Doctor, not thinking of himself at all. The Master just stands, paralyzed with shock and wonder for a moment, before he steps towards the Doctor.

The Weevil in front of him, however, has different ideas.

While the rabid Weevils converge on the Doctor and Jack, snarling and violently fighting with them, the Master's way is barred. Several Weevils form a ring around him and bow as he turns around, trying to escape. They act as his personal guard. He swears and yells and rushes at them, but they are utterly devoted to him. He takes a deep breath and, thinking quickly, tries to psychically command the Weevils to stop and let him through.

They're very easy to control, like the disconnected and obedient slave-race of the Ood. It's child's play to enter a mind as simple as the Weevils', although they have distinct personalities. It isn't, however, that much unlike the mind of a Time Lord's. If the Master had more time to think and didn't know better, he'd say that they were somehow related. Their senses, although raw and unrefined, are strong. Fortunately, he is able to break past the instinct and tap into the Weevils.

It seems that the ring and, essentially, his own signal of four beats, is firmly engraved into the Weevils. They must imprint on the signal, he surmises. He'll have to use it to control them. Suddenly, with a final shove, the noises stop and the Weevils freeze.

The Master feels his pulse race; his hearts fly, and beat away at his chest to match the drums. He bounds across the cavern now, pushing through listless Weevils and through the ring that had formed around the still, unmoving bodies of the Doctor and Jack.

He rolls the Freak out of the way. Jack had died trying to protect the Doctor, as expected, the foolish thing. The Master doesn't think much about that, though, because the Doctor is lying as still and motionless as the dead man beside him.

The Master mumbles, "no, no, no," cursing in at least thirteen languages, his hands tearing apart the Doctor's shirt, carelessly ripping apart buttons and fabric to see where all of the blood is coming from. There's so much blood - of course there is blood - and it's ruining the Doctor's nice shirt and tie. One of his legs seems to be injured as well, but it doesn't look as bad. He tears the Doctor's shirt, folds the clean fabric, and presses it to the Doctor's shoulder wound to stop the flow. When two hearts aren't a blessing they're a curse, pumping out the blood too fast. His own hearts quicken and he curses that, too, curses himself for letting them beat faster in worry and fear.

The Doctor's eyes flicker open at the sound of his swearing voice, then close soon again. He's past being giddy with the blood loss and has moved on to being delirious, far too quickly. He's on his secondary systems, falling back, ready to die.

"Come on, Doctor," he growls, gathering his voice past the large lump in his throat. "You've fought worse things than this. This is just a wound. That's what you told me, wasn't it?" He sighs and urges the Doctor, "Just regenerate, isn't that what you said?" He shifts the Doctor into a different position. He wishes he could carry the Doctor back to the TARDIS, but he's very afraid to do it alone - he could injure him further. For once, he prays that the Freak would come back to life.

"Doctor," he mutters in the Doctor's ear, in that special tone he always saves for when he's almost won. "You've fought Daleks, and Cybermen, and…Axons-" he stops and curses himself for repeating the Doctor's speech to him as he lay stubbornly dying. "You've fought me," he says forcefully, "you're not dying for a few stupid Weevils."

The idiot is holding back the regeneration, he realizes. He is delirious and unstable, and the Master is worried.

"Four knocks," the Doctor mumbles. He's waiting for the four knocks. He still thinks he's going to die, the conceited idiot!

"You can keep waiting for them, Doctor, because they aren't going to come. I'm not going to let them. Hold on. Now, either regenerate or enter a healing trance or something, because _I am not allowing you to die today_."

The Doctor's eyes open and fix on the Master's face. It seems blurred and out of sync to him. The TARDIS' ever-shining white light illuminates it strangely in the cavern, throwing half of his features into shadow. Words echo slowly through a fog to reach him, but he comprehends the Master somehow. _Hold on_ , he understands, and so he does.

The sharp gasping noise that signifies Jack's return to life breaks the moment.

"Help me carry him," the Master commands.

"What have you done?"

"We need to get him to the TARDIS."

"Martha can help him," Jack mutters, his eyes taking in the bloody, unconscious Doctor.

"She's not touching him," the Master sneers.

"What are you-?"

"Every moment that you argue with me, _Captain_ , is a moment he's closer to death. He can't regenerate in this state of mind, so help me carry him back to the TARDIS and I very well might save his life, although I'll never live it down." The Master glares at Jack, who silently helps him to lift the Doctor carefully.

The Doctor smiles in his blurry delirium. He feels safe. He feels pain, too, and the deep fear that four distinct knocks will be clear through the fog surrounding him. He feels something pressing down on him, too, something oppressing and dark and suffocating. It almost feels like comfort, but he sticks with the pain and the fear, because they're so much better. He sticks with the pain and the fear because he recognizes the voice that's urging him.

"Stay with me, just this once."

And, for once, the Doctor stays, even though he can't name the thing that has tied his frantic hearts here.


	13. Luck

"Martha, can I talk to you for a minute?" Donna motions Martha over from the computers. Jack looks at her strangely, but one very Donna-ish expression makes him back off. Martha's face holds some confusion, but she allows Donna to pull her into a more private alcove of the Hub.

"Is something wrong?" Martha asks Donna, taking in her worried expression. Donna does her best to hide it. "Donna, you know you can tell me anything." She knows she can, but she doesn't want to. She crosses her fingers behind her back.

"I'm going to leave," she says, whispering because she doesn't have the bravery of voice to speak louder. "I'll miss you - I'll miss all of you - but I can't stay here."

"I understand. Are you going to ask him?" She motions upwards, to the TARDIS, where the Doctor has been recovering for hours now. The Master has neglected to inform them of the Doctor's condition, but none of them are feeling friendly enough to knock and ask, not even Donna. They, despite all previous experience with the Master, know that the Doctor will be alright.

"No, I think…I think I'm going to stow away and slip out somewhere. The TARDIS likes me, she won't give me away. And with any luck they'll be too distracted to notice. But I'll need you to distract the Doctor for me. He'll come down here to say goodbye, or at least to confiscate something."

"How do you-"

"He loves you guys, even if he leaves you."

Martha crosses her arms and looks at Donna, really looks at her, and notices how her intuition has grown from when she first met her. She isn't just the Doctor's friend; she is her own radiant, sparkling person. Donna looks at Martha in that moment, seeing everything that is seen on her own face and much, much more. She firmly reminds herself to blink and breathe.

"I need a favor. When he goes up there, go after him. Wait until he's opened the door, and shout for him. Yell at him, lecture him, thank him, I don't care. Just don't let him see me slip in." Martha nods as she speaks. Anything for a good friend.

"Have you told Jack yet? Any of the others? They'll miss you so much. It won't be the same without you. You take care of yourself, yeah?" Martha is biting her lip and looks upset, but Donna doesn't understand. They were barely friends, weren't they? She had tried so hard to distance herself from Martha and her future husband that she felt like she hadn't really got to know her as much as she could have.

"No, not yet, I wanted to talk to you first."

"Oh, Donna," Martha murmurs, pulling her into a hug. Donna squeezes her gently, tries to pull away too soon, but Martha holds on tight and whispers in her ear, "I'll miss you. Very much." And when then they pull away, the two women now crying about barely-realized friendship and lost adventures, the limitless possibilities that separate them forever.

Donna's breath catches and it's already too late, every chance gone. But she's not thankful, she's wounded, and the world is rushing, and Martha is still so close, fondness and tears on her face for this woman that she has barely even scratched the surface with, and Donna kisses her. She kisses her, and after one panicked second Martha kisses back, strokes Donna's cheek with her smooth knuckles, wipes away Donna's tears with her soft fingertips, and doesn't push Donna away, doesn't shout in surprise, doesn't look offended and upset.

They pull away in unison just as Martha takes Donna's hand and she feels the engagement ring brush through her fingers; both reminded and brought back to Earth.

"Martha, I'm so sorry, I-"

"Shhh, it's okay, Donna. You're fine. You're okay. You'll be brilliant out there, I know it." And Martha's acceptance speaks miles for Donna as she provides another comforting hug, this one less intimate than the last because there are boundaries now. Martha will soon be a married woman and Donna is leaving for the stars, and they both know that whatever could have been is no longer. Somehow, Donna knows that she'll make her way out there among the stars, perhaps not as the Doctor does, but in her own way. And Martha believes in her, which strengthens her, and she knows she can do anything she wants.

"Thank you. I will miss all of this. Earth is wonderful."

"Someone's got to defend it," Martha shrugs as they emerge into the general part of the Hub, wiping tears from their faces. Donna looks around, memorizing the ragged place with her eyes, memories sparkling in her tears. She will miss the times she had here as much as she has missed her times with the Doctor. "I love it here. I've fought too hard to leave it. That takes a lot more bravery than I've got."

Jack comes striding towards them, his arms crossed and his face scrunched up.

"The others are upstairs. We're having a party for Donna." Martha smiles, cheers, and begins to make her way up the stairs. Donna watches her go then turns to Jack.

"Jack, how did you know?" Donna asks. She isn't turning down a party, not now. "I haven't told anyone I was leaving except for Martha."

"Oh, you're leaving? I thought it was a coming out party!" She turns bright red and takes a swing at him, laughing like a fool.

"Oh, stop it, Jack," but she catches his laughter. "How did you know?"

" _Everyone_ knows you fancy Martha, Donna. Except Mickey, because he's too busy keeping an eye on me and an eye out for the Doctor, come to steal her away again," he tries not to sound too cheerful and to be sensitive, but Donna feels strangely relaxed.

"Took me long enough, I know."

"Donna, don't worry about that," Jack throws a comforting arm around her. "Be yourself. Be magnificent. Have a wonderful life, out there. Do you know what you're -?"

"I'm going to stow away on the TARDIS, and leave when they're on a planet I like." Jack nods in appreciation of the plan. Simple, yet effective.

"How do you plan to make a life out there? It's a big universe."

"Actually," she smiles at him, an idea sparkling in her eye, "I have a few questions for you." Jack makes another face and Donna laughs at him. She thoroughly enjoys her last few hours on Earth, even though she will miss them all. She phones her grandfather, Wilf, and promises to call, via the mobile that she's rigged to work everywhere and every when. She looks at the Torchwood team, from quiet Ianto joking with Jack, to Gwen, Martha, and Mickey eating pizza and recounting strange stories, and thinks to herself: _this is the family I've always wanted._

* * *

The Doctor wakes up to the safe, warm, gentle feel of the TARDIS. She drifts around the edges of his mind like a concerned parent. His head feels as if it's about to split with the mutterings of time and the incessant chatter of the universe.

"My head," he manages to moan. Someone says something in a low voice and he feels himself moving. It doesn't jar him much, but he still feels a dull, aching pain in his left shoulder. The movement stops, and the murmuring around his head ceases as well. His head clears very suddenly, making him even more disoriented.

"Master?" he says, opening his eyes so the world can swim before him. He feels like he's floating in a pink fog. He takes a deep breath and tries to clear his mind, setting up the mental barriers that seem to have fallen or slipped while he was unconscious. Finally, he opens his eyes.

"I can't believe you thought you could get by without a Zero Room," a voice mutters from his right. Or is it left? The Doctor's vision slowly focuses on the face looking down at him.

"Hello," he murmurs.

"Hello, moron," the Master chuckles back.

"You created a Zero Room," the Doctor observes.

"Your TARDIS will let me do almost anything if it means saving your life."

"Almost?"

"My room is still smaller than Harry Potter's cupboard."

"Ah…yeah…we'll have to do something about that." Neither of them speaks for a while. The Doctor takes a moment to observe the situation and try and remember what happened. It slowly comes back to him, everything from the Weevils to his few moments of unconsciousness. He looks around. This new Zero Room is smaller than his old one, but it looks the same. He's lying on one of the cots from the medical bay. His left shoulder is wrapped in bandages, but they need changing. His right leg is also bandaged, but it barely even hurts.

"I regrew as much skin and muscle as I could without your body rejecting it." the Master explains uncomfortably. He's not used to being a doctor. "Impressive med bay. You lost a lot of blood, but you should be fine now, except for a little giddiness. You were lucky. You need to rest for a week, no world-saving adventures," he suppresses a chuckle, "Doctor's orders."

The Doctor starts to sit up, protesting, "But, the End of Time-" but the Master gently stops him.

"Can wait," he finishes. "Three down, and to boot, the drums are quieter than ever."

"Did you-"

"Hook the third fragment up to the console and drop the ever-amazing Torchwood team back in Cardiff? Yeah."

"Without saying goodbye?" The Doctor makes a sour face. The Master rolls his eyes.

"I knew you'd all want your happy ending," he sighs condescendingly, "We're parked back where we were. Something happened with the Rift and caused the earthquake. I closed the Rift long enough for them to get the Weevils under control and everything all back to normal now. You've been unconscious for a day." The Master leaves out the finer details and even some of the bigger picture. The Doctor doesn't need to know more, not now.

"Good," the Doctor nods and closes his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. After a few moments, he begins to rise up off of the cot and into the air of the Zero Room.

"Show off," the Master murmurs.

"I always was better at focusing than you," the Doctor says, opening his eyes and smiling smugly.

"But I was the best at hypnotism," the Master counters, his eyes widening slightly. "I thought you had to be in a trance or something of the sort to float." The Doctor turns on his side like he's lying on a sofa and grins mischievously.

"Well, I've been practicing for awhile. I had a lot of free time when you weren't around to defeat." The Master takes a deep breath and joins him in the air with a successful grin to match the Doctor's.

"Really? I haven't."

"Hey," the Doctor protests, "that took me 500 years to perfect! And look at you, like…like Peter Pan." The Master flips upside down with a laugh. The Doctor watches him, entranced.

"I prefer Spiderman," he mutters, letting his arms hang down lazily to play with the Doctor's hair. He buries his fingers in it and twists it through his fingers, chuckling silently when the Doctor whines a little. He mentally compares him to a puppy and finds the similarities amusing. The Doctor closes his eyes and makes a very large effort not to lose his concentration and fall. It's very difficult.

The Master suddenly hauls him up by his hair, and silences the Doctor's yelps with a kiss. It's strange, with him upside-down and the Doctor right-side-up (or is the Doctor upside-down and he right-side-up?), but after a few moments, neither of them really care. They twirl around each other, trying their best to press closer and kiss harder, but it's very difficult.

"You know, we could just turn on the anti-gravity," the Doctor murmurs into the Master's ear.

"But this is so much more challenging," but the Master's smile is wiped clean off of his face. The Doctor squints at him curiously, and then notices something warm and wet dripping down his neck. He reaches up and his fingers come back with blood.

"Oh," he says, and promptly drops out of the air. The Master catches him in an instant.

"Your problem is," the Master says through gritted teeth as he carefully sets the Doctor down on the gurney, "you don't focus."

"You were distracting me," the Doctor weakly protests.

"That was the point," he replies. "No fun until you get better," he sighs. An excited tingle runs up the Doctor's spine. The Master picks at the edges of the bandages at the Doctor's shoulder, his fingertips feeling hot, like they're carrying sparks where they brush against the Doctor's bare skin. "I need to get you new dressings. Don't do anything stupid." He turns to leave, but his head pops around the door. "On second thought, don't do anything at all. Be right back."

He isn't back.

The Doctor waits fifteen minutes before setting out after the Master. It doesn't take him long to find him, curled up on the floor of the med bay. He's staring at one of his hands, held tightly by the wrist with the other, inches from his face. There is a smear of the Doctor's blood on his fingers. The Doctor sees the Master's black jacket draped carelessly over a chair and slips it over his shoulder to hide his blood-soaked bandage. He sits quietly beside the Master, who acts as if he isn't there.

"They were so quiet" the Master murmurs, and the Doctor knows that he's choosing his words very carefully. "And then, the smell of blood, _your_ blood, they suddenly…" The Doctor barely nods his head, showing understanding and compassion. The Master wants to spit in his face. "It hurts so much, but it feels so _good_." He presses the back of his hand against his mouth to hide a whimper.

The Doctor pulls the Master into his arms and holds him, pressing the sniffling face into his unwounded shoulder. He just holds him as long as the sobs wrack through the Master's body. The Master doesn't know why he allows himself to be comforted. It's the last thing he needs.

"I'm losing them, Doctor," he says, clutching at the unharmed shoulder, and still doesn't know why he's telling the Doctor this. "I'm losing the drums. What am I becoming?" He pushes the Doctor away and relishes the rejection on the Doctor's face.

"I don't know," the Doctor whispers. "Who's to say, what are we?"

"This isn't about us," he snarls, "just this once, this is about _me_."

The Master turns away, stumbling, and breaks into a run. The Doctor hears a door slam in the distance and knows the Master will be safe for now. Safe from others, safe from himself.

The Doctor dresses his own wounds and goes to change his clothes. He keeps the Master's jacket, washes it, and folds it gently to leave in front of the Master's door.

* * *

The Doctor almost leaves without saying goodbye.

With a buzz from the sonic screwdriver, he's descending into the Hub on the paving stone that wants him to look elsewhere. He looks over the machinery and grunge of the Hub with some disdain. The Torchwood team has gathered to say farewell. He steps from the paving stone, his hands buried in his pockets, and nods respectfully at them. Jack smiles at him, but his eyes sadly send back the longing for older, brighter days.

"Where's Donna?" the Doctor asks, looking around. He doesn't see the redhead anywhere.

"She didn't want to say goodbye," Martha says quickly, not meeting the Doctor's eyes. "Are you alright?" He nods and looks at her curiously. None of them speak. The Doctor stares at the group: Jack, Gwen, Ianto, Mickey, and Martha. He wishes he had something like that. He's an outsider. The silence quickly becomes awkward and terse. The dripping of water is the only sound.

"It was nice meeting you," Ianto says politely, stepping forward for a handshake and a quick smile that Jack doesn't see. Gwen quickly stands at Ianto's side to follow suit.

"If you're ever back here, the Torchwood team is here to help," she says graciously, but the Doctor notes the curiosity in her eye. "Come on, Ianto," she says, giving them an excuse to leave the Doctor with his former companions. "Let's go clean up the tourist office."

"See you around, Doctor?" Mickey takes his turn to step forward and smile, bumping fists with the Doctor.

"See you around," he smiles back. "Congratulations!"

"Thanks." Mickey adds quietly, "we would understand if you skipped the wedding," the Doctor nods in understanding. Mickey claps him on the shoulder and turns away to stand by Martha and hold her hand.

Jack doesn't step forward or smile.

"Be careful," he warns the Doctor.

"Of course." They stare levelly for a long moment. Martha holds her breath.

"'Till we meet again?" Jack says, finally cracking one of his famous grins. He salutes the Doctor.

The Doctor turns to Martha, who is beaming up at him anxiously.

"Have the best life," he grins at her proudly. "Torchwood, Mickey, everything you do. Be amazing, Martha Jones." He leans down for a hug but she holds out her hand for him to shake.

"I will. And you," she says, grasping his hand firmly. "Always remember, okay? Remember me, remember Mickey, remember Jack. And remember everything he's done. And be careful," she catches his eye and holds his gaze levelly.

The Doctor only nods, the smile barely held on his face. He turns and steps back onto the stone, which begins to rise. The three watch him in complete silence. The moment he disappears above ground, Martha speaks.

"He didn't listen to a word of what we said, did he?" And of course he didn't, Jack thinks. He's the Doctor.

* * *

The Doctor sighs when he reaches ground level and begins the short walk across the Plaza to the TARDIS. He pulls out his key, unlocks the doors, and is about to step in when he hears a shout.

"Wait!" Martha says, running across the pavement towards the Doctor. He turns to her with a look of confusion on his face, leaving the doors open a crack. He steps forward to stare confoundedly at her.

"What -"

"I can't let you leave without making you listen, Doctor," she says firmly. He nods at her and waits for her to continue. "I told you to be careful, and I know you will be, but you have to properly listen to me. I thought I saw what he did to my family, but that was only the half of it," Martha tells the Doctor. A more steely tone enters her voice to cover the wobbly anger in it.

"There are some wounds that never heal. Tish can't watch football anymore and has panic attacks whenever she sees fire. Dad's back with Mum, but I worry so much that they'll split up again and she won't be able to get through the day without him. Leo doesn't know what to think. It tears me apart to see them like that every day, but we have to keep going. You always leave at the end. And I have to live with the aftermath of you," she glances away briefly to stare at the TARDIS, "and _that man_."

His eyes burn through her, wanting to tell her how sorry he is. He wishes that she would someday forgive him, but he doesn't understand that she never blamed him in the first place.

"I know," the Doctor says quietly. Martha doesn't know if he's ashamed or just trying not to make a scene.

"No, you don't," Martha protests fiercely. "Because you're about to go in there and do God-knows-what, and you have to properly listen to me, Doctor." It feels like everyone has been telling him to listen lately, so he does.

"Remember my mate and the bloke she fell in love with, Sean, yeah?" He nods. Martha has a way with words. "Good. Now, listen again. Because I have another mate, who fell in love with this girl, his best friend. They always dreamed of making something of themselves. One day, she found a boy who had what she thought was everything: money, respect, freedom. She got involved with him, but he got her into trouble. And she ended up in debt, with a broken heart, and all of her friends gone."

"I don't -"

"And when she trudged back home with nothing, you know what he did? He took her back into his heart, and he helped her. A year passed, and she settled for him. Until she ran off with someone he could never live up to." Realization dawns on the Doctor.

"But-"

"She's happy now, but she's not with my friend. And, as badly as she treated him when he tried to help her, he will always be there for her if she ever needs it, as impossible as it may seem."

The Doctor stares sadly at her, thinking of Mickey, thinking of Rose. He has heard parts of this story before, but never thought of how Mickey felt. He lowers his head, ashamed.

"And, if something ever happens, which it will, we will be right here, ready to help you. Even if you ignore our warnings now." They stare at each other for a moment, the Doctor feeling so proud of Martha and Mickey and so ashamed of himself. "It's an unhealthy relationship," Martha says pointedly. The Doctor shrugs it off, that's like saying that the TARDIS is bigger on the inside. "And I can't say I condone it. But I wish you happiness, because you deserve it."

"Thank you," the Doctor whispers as he takes Martha into his arms and squeezes her tightly. "Good luck. Have a wonderful life," he smiles.

"Oh, and stay away from here for the next couple of weeks, yeah? Don't want you ruining my honeymoon," Martha jokes. The Doctor beams at her and turns to the TARDIS. He goes to open the door, but it's closed, probably by the wind. He pulls out his key, unlocks it, and closes the doors.

Martha simply stands and watches the blue box disappear in a sudden gust of wind.

"Good luck," she whispers to the suddenly still air. They'll need it.


	14. The Closest Thing to Peace

The Doctor manages to avoid the Master for three days of floating around the vortex. He waits until he's completely healed before he lets his guard down. He roams the hallways, feeling lost. He stops at the library and restlessly strides from one shelf to another, putting books back into place that he doesn't remember moving. He even has to stop to get groceries once, because twice as much food is disappearing from the kitchen. Solitude must be making the Master hungry.

Finally, the Doctor just sits in the console room and waits. He types a few locations into the scanner, thinking deeply, until he finally sets the coordinates but leaves them hanging in a particularly peaceful part of the vortex. There isn't any harmful time energy here.

The Master finally appears silently, his arms crossed, staring at his shoes. They're the Doctor's maroon pair, but he doesn't feel like complaining. The Doctor looks at him, wanting to ask, _are you all right?_ , but he doesn't. He stares for a moment more before thinking about what he's going to say next. His thoughts have converged on him to conceive a horrible idea. It's terrible, he half-acknowledges that, but the Doctor was never good with this sort of thing. Or anything involving the Master, really.

"Let's go somewhere nice and peaceful for a change."

The Master's face drops into an expression of utter disgust.

"We can have... dinner or…or…something," he trails off, wishing suddenly that he had kept this idea to himself. He just doesn't want this, whatever _this_ is, to end.

"You're asking me to go on a date with you?" the Master asks incredulously.

"Uh, yes, I think so," the Doctor replies, looking befuddled even by himself. They stare at each other for a long, awkward moment.

"Doctor," the Master starts, drawing out his name, "we're not like…other people." The words seem strange on his tongue, like he shouldn't be talking down to the Doctor like he's a kid and doesn't understand that none of the norms he's witnessed apply to them. He wants to kick the Doctor for not thinking of something better to excuse a quick break in their quest.

"Or, we could find the last fragment," the Doctor supplies the alternative. They both look distastefully at the three fragments of the white-point star, already wired into the TARDIS. The end seems to already be crashing down around their ears.

"Why don't we -" A sudden crash interrupts the Master's cheeky response. The two Time Lords turn and stare at the direction of the sudden noise, within the depths of the TARDIS. It is followed shortly by a yell.

"What the hell was that?" the Master says, and then they're off running towards the source.

"SPACEMAN!" The yelling continues. The Doctor skids around a corner, the Master in tow, to see Donna fighting off a toaster with a cricket bat.

"Donna?" the Doctor yells back, then steps back as she takes a swing at the toaster. It's the sentient one that was supposed to be locked up in the kitchen. Somehow, it's grown metal legs and has developed the ability to shoot fire. "What?" he says loudly, over the crashing and hissing noises of the fight.

"Don't just stand there," she urges them, "help me!" The Doctor pulls out his sonic screwdriver and points it at the toaster, causing it to stop shooting flames and begin to back away, slowly. Donna hits it a few times with the cricket bat. Slowly, the legs begin to fold back to the toaster's body and it begins to resemble the toaster that it once was. Donna throws the bat onto the ground and leans against the wall, where the Doctor joins her.

"That was…" he trails off, looking at Donna. They both collapse into laughter. Their moment of mirth is interrupted by more loud crashes, as the Master has picked up Donna's cricket bat and is now completely destroying the mutant, sentient toaster.

"Don't look at me like that," he says when he's finished, throwing the bat down amongst the rubble, "we gave the toaster a second chance." He looks patronizingly at the Doctor, one corner of his mouth turned into a smirk, and they all stare silently at each other for a moment before bursting into laughter again.

"Good job," the Doctor chuckles, standing beside the Master to admire his handiwork. After a moment, he turns on Donna. "What are you doing here?" he says, crossing his arms and attempting to look serious. "Spying on us?" He really shouldn't be surprised.

"Oh, please," she says, crossing her arms and looking equally sassy (not that the Doctor would ever describe himself as sassy). "I wasn't just going to stay on Earth, now, was I? And traveling with the two of you isn't quite my cup of tea, either."

"Why not? What's wrong with us?" the Doctor looks a little hurt, not that he would have allowed Donna to travel with them, anyways.

"Nothing. I just wouldn't want to get in the way."

"Sorry?" the Doctor says, the smile falling from his face as he looks steadily more in denial.

"Oh, shut up, everyone in Torchwood knew," the Master says slyly, snaking an arm around the Doctor's waist possessively, just to get on his nerves. The Doctor tries to shrug him off and fails.

"I-"

"Doctor, as much as I love seeing the universe with you, there are just some things that I don't want to see," Donna says, sending another one of her looks at the Master, who is now wrapped around the Doctor. The Doctor looks painfully uncomfortable and is still trying to shrug away. "That's enough, you, I get it," she says pointedly at the Master, who just smiles.

"But, Donna, what-"

"What do you want here?" the Master asks, point-blank.

"I want to travel. On my own."

"You can't!" the Doctor exclaims. "It's impossible."

"No, it's not. Drop her off at the Time Agency and let her join," the Master suggests.

"You can't just drop people off at the Time Agency. Besides, think of all the things they get up to."

"I can handle myself fine, thank you," Donna protests. "But I can't do this anymore. Torchwood isn't enough. There is so much inside my head, so much out there that I can do. I want to _travel_ again."

"Donna," the Doctor begins softly, "I might never see you again."

"Oh, I think we will meet again," she smiles at the pair. "Please." Her eyes plead with intense longing that the Doctor completely understands. "You've left me with so much…wanderlust." He sighs, chewing on his lip.

"We were just about to visit Bonitalla," the Doctor sighs.

"He was trying to seduce me," the Master adds conspiratorially.

The Doctor gives him a light shove and continues, "There's a small branch of the Time Agency there. You can enroll. You'll need recommendations."

"I've got Jack's already," Donna says excitedly. "He said that they disbanded or something for a bit."

"Time Agents never really disappear, though," he mumbles. "Just be careful when you're using that vortex manipulator."

"Nasty things," the Master comments.

"Really? You'll really let me go?" The Doctor sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I suppose so. There's no stopping you." He gives her a proud half-smile and she hugs him.

"Oh, please, what about me?" the Master asks with mock jealousy, snorting at the Doctor.

"Why do you always have to put on a show when we have company?" the Doctor says quietly as they're making their way back to the console room.

"Because, you're so much more fun then," the Master grins mischievously. While Donna's back is turned, he grabs the Doctor by the collar and kisses him. "Fine. Let's go."

"I guess this really does mean that we can go somewhere nice and peaceful," the Doctor says triumphantly, running a hand through his hair.

"Oh, god, this isn't a date now, is it?" the Master groans. "No, no, no. Not a _date_."

"What do you have against dates? Are they only for lesser mortals?" Donna snaps at the Master, making them aware that she's been listening to their conversation.

"No," the Master replies as they step into the console room, "they're just boring."

* * *

The TARDIS lands on a busy street. It only takes a few moments of observation to assess their surroundings; it's a crowded marketplace, filled with all types of aliens and bizarre sights. Stalls are filled with food or other wares, shop doors tinkle as people leave or enter, the occasional horn beeps as someone riding some strange alien equivalent of a motorcycle appears. The air is thick with strange, new scents and the steam from cooking.

It's strangely peaceful for all of its noise and bustle. The clamor of pots and pans, the crackle of fires roasting strange alien meats and dishes, the smell of spices and perfumes; everything mixes with the voices of many languages and dialects to create a somewhat relaxing rhythm.

The noise is what the Doctor loves the most. All of the people, the languages, the laughter, and crying, and shouting. The people are music, music to the clanging of pots and splashing of water.

"What a headache," the Master says in his ear.

"Is this it?" Donna says from his other side, staring, dumbstruck, at the tiny office. It has a red sign with the words 'Time Agency - Bonitalla Branch' printed on it. A large digital clock is flickering below it with the exact date and time, down to the thousandth of a second. "I thought it would be bigger," Donna says blankly. "Or more secret."

"Where did you get the idea that it was secret?" the Doctor asks, before he answers his own question. "Oh, Jack." He tilts his head to the side, thinking carefully around timelines and such. "They've rebuilt, since their…" he counts on his fingers, "eleventh collapse. Of course, no one knows, because they mess with the time lines so much. Watch out for that, and you'll be fine."

"Are they better?" Donna lowers her voice, finally admitting her fears. "Jack warned me, that if I went through with this, it would be difficult." She trails off, looking desperately at the Doctor for guidance. The Master taps his foot impatiently. He doesn't care about Donna or Time Agents. They've always been a nuisance, messing with Time when they didn't have the right. No wonder the fabric of the space-time continuum is in danger.

"You'll make them the best," the Doctor smiles, and they hug each other tightly a final time in farewell.

"Take care of yourself," Donna whispers in his ear. She meets the Master's eyes behind the Doctor's back, and holds them for a moment before he looks away and rolls them. "And I'm sorry, Doctor. I-I'm sorry."

"What are you talking about?" he says, softly, holding her at arm's length and not letting her go. "Don't be sorry, you'll be brilliant." Something sparkles in her eyes that he doesn't understand.

"No, I'm not sorry for all of _this_. Never for this. Good luck," she says, looking into his brown eyes a final time.

The door tingles when it opens, such an old, simple sound in this strange, alien world. The Doctor feels lost again, abandoned; his shoulders sag under the grief of another lost friend.

A hand clapped on his shoulder brings him back to the ground.

"Hey," the Master interrupts this thoughts, "let's take a look around." The Doctor nods, unable to speak, and disappears into the crowd, beside the Master.

Inside, Donna lets the sliver of a blind fall back into place with a twitch of her fingers. She sighs and turns away from the window.

"Can I help you?" the pretty Time Agent behind the desk asks her with a wink. Donna smiles. She's on her own.

* * *

The café that the Doctor chooses is exactly what the Master expected of him. It seems old-fashioned and quaint, even though it isn't really. It's sweet, a terrace set into a large cliff face with a great view over sloping hills and a beautiful horizon. This particular alcove is quiet and peaceful, unlike the bright lights and exotic smells of the neon-lit clubs high above them, which the Master would prefer.

The view of the darkened landscape of hills and slopes and the city spilling out over them makes him feel very small. He even feels smaller than the lanterns that speckle the deep, dark landscape like tiny fireflies into the starlit sky. The last rays of the first sun disappear behind a defined hill, and the second sun is closely following. Darkened purples, maroons, and blues have blended in with black, but light dances over the horizon, still, in the form of bright greens and teals and pinks. The stars shine brilliantly in nearly every color, they are twinkling little lanterns that the Master swears he could touch and conquer.

The second sun dips over the horizon, painting the surrounding sky a light peach. As the light recedes, the Master feels left behind, stuck here with the Doctor. He understands why the Doctor wanted to come, and he decides that he wants to leave immediately. But even he has to admit it's brave of the Doctor to bring him here in the first place. So he decides to listen, in case he says something interesting. It will, of course, end in an argument and disappointment on both of their behalves; he's always enjoyed watching things go up in flames.

The Master decides that he hates this café, and mentally categorizes it as the nineteenth place he's going to destroy when he rules the universe. And it doesn't seem to serve anything other than spaghetti.

"Master," the Doctor starts, but the alien who owns the café, a human-looking man named Luigi who the Doctor seems to have met several times, appears and sets their drinks on the table. A candle follows, and the Doctor shrugs and looks away. The Master decides to play with the flame and searches for the closest flammable material, which seems to be the Doctor's coat. He considers lighting it on fire, decides it wouldn't be in his interests, and chooses to tease the Doctor instead.

"This is the worst attempt at seduction I've ever seen," the Master declares, making the Doctor splutter into his drink in a very cliché way.

"I wasn't-"

"Don't kid yourself. I've seen you try this before, on half a dozen other planets, with half a dozen other companions. There was that Scottish one in the skirt, and…actually, most of them wore skirts, didn't they? Not to mention Paris! Or shall I extend that to France in-"

"Can you not mention my exes?" the Doctor mumbles, looking down his drink, a weird, shockingly blue liquid has ordered for them both. The Master was disappointed to find that it does not induce the sensation of having his brain smashed out by a lemon wrapped around a large gold brick.

"Your exes. How quaint. Oh, god, do I have to fight them, now?" The confused look he receives makes him sigh and mutter, "of course not. I'm your only evil ex."

"Ex?" the Doctor starts, before taking a long sip to ensure he doesn't elaborate.

"You're not about to start calling me your boyfriend, are you?" The Doctor's face doesn't go blank quickly enough. He looks childishly hurt, like a kicked puppy. The Master starts playing with the little umbrella in his own aqua drink, wondering how it would look stuck in the Doctor's eye. The Doctor, going domestic, of all people!

"What's wrong with that?" the Doctor says, his voice strained to sound casual and amused.

"It's just so bloody domestic. Like changing your Facebook status to 'in a relationship.'" The Master spits at him angrily.

"More like, 'it's complicated,'" the Doctor adds quietly, and then looks embarrassed.

"Why are you so obsessed with labels and clichés anyways?" the Master says gruffly. "That's for everyone else. We're different."

The Doctor spits out, "Is this because of what you overheard?" before he can stop himself.

The Master makes brief eye contact and says flatly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, we have to talk about this sooner or later!" the Doctor blushes a little but carries on. "How much did you hear of Jack and I talking while we were trapped?"

"It's below my dignity to eavesdrop on that Freak."

"I know you were listening, you left the codes in the scanner. There's no use denying it." He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. "Master -"

"I'm never going to stop fighting you," the Master growls loudly, "and you _enjoy_ it, so stop complaining to try and convince yourself otherwise. End of story." There is so much more that he could say, but he doesn't.

"I shouldn't have brought you here." The Doctor exhales. He looks around. A few other, quieter couples are eyeballing them suspiciously. He feels strangely exposed, probably because he usually isn't in these types of situations. It's strange, how he can be perfectly calm while facing thousands of deadly aliens, but can't handle dinner with his sworn enemy. "I just thought we needed a break, before-"

"Before what, Doctor?" The question stings, loud and frank. Before the Doctor can even think of an angered reply, Luigi appears with their dinner. The Doctor quickly stuffs food in his mouth. The Master stares at the spaghetti tacos with disgust and stabs one of the roasted eyeballs in his own spaghetti, contemplating how far the Doctor would fall if he threw him off the cliff.

"There are reflective barriers. I'd bounce off, and then I'd have to bail you out of jail for attempted murder." The Doctor sounds almost bored.

"You're ridiculous. You really take that 'turn the other cheek' stuff seriously. If you were in jail, I think I'd enjoy the freedom." He pulls his bright red plastic straw from his empty drink and bites the end with a smug grin, twisting the red plastic between his teeth. The Doctor watches the thin plastic straw warp, and creases become white as they form. "It wouldn't take me long to escape."

"Wouldn't take me long, either," the Doctor shoots back.

"Is that a challenge?" The Master rudely flicks his warped straw onto the ground and offers a full grin. The Doctor picks it up and sets it beside his plate, withholding his own smile. "Goody-two shoes. You'd never do anything to get into jail, not on purpose. Next time we end up in jail-" He pauses, realizing.

"There's still a chance…" the Doctor trails off.

"Where are we going?" the Master asks quickly.

"It's a planet. Unnamed, unexplored, uncharted, uninhabited. Last stop."

"I mean, sooner than that." It takes the Doctor a moment to understand.

"I'm not taking you to one of those clubs," he says outright, glancing up at one of the neon balconies in the distance. He imagines that he hears the pumping music in the background.

"Oh, come on! They have real drinks! Live a little." The Doctor isn't sure what game he's playing at, but he outright refuses.

"The last thing I want to do is give you access to hypervodka."

"Yeah," the Master snorts sarcastically, "because I'm such an embarrassing drunk. We're Time Lords; we can't get drunk that easily. I'm not even carrying a flask of ginger beer to spike your drink," The Doctor shoots him a look.

"That was oddly specific." He peers into the melting ice in his cup and successfully avoids the Master's eyes.

"Oh. I see. You're afraid of what you might do if you were drunk," the Master realizes. "You're not trying to seduce me. You're trying _not_ to."

"Don't be ridiculous," the Doctor protests halfheartedly, but it's a lost argument either way.

"You're still afraid of me."

"I'm not-"

"You're smart. So you are." The Doctor can hardly argue with this point, and he can barely hold himself together. The Master is beginning to notice it, and wonders if there was something in the Doctor's food that he didn't add. "Let's go," he suggests quickly, pulling money out of his pocket. The Doctor stares.

"What?" he says defensively, "you might not have thought about it, but the redhead needed money. I found your stash."

"And helped yourself?" But the Doctor is resigned to accept it and puts the psychic paper back into his own pocket. "Since when do you even pay for anything?"

"I didn't think you took the jail challenge seriously."

They pay Luigi on their way out and emerge onto the lantern-lit street and into the dispersing crowds. The Master wonders if it would be childish of him to kick the Doctor for the atmosphere of the planet he chose, when he stops, looking up at the actual atmosphere.

"What is it?" the Doctor asks, looking up as well.

"It's just…" the Master trails off, the drums beating faintly to remind him of how ridiculous he sounds, knowing he'll regret it the moment the words leave his lips, "the colors, the stars, it's kind of…unlike anything I've ever seen." For this the Doctor is amazed, to the Doctor alone it's a breakthrough, and he grabs the Master's lapels and kisses him until the imprints of the bright and shining stars have faded from his eyelids.

"Well," the Master says with a repressed grin, "if you're going to do that every time I comment on the scenery-" he stops when he sees the look on the Doctor's face and the direction to which it is now pointed. He turns to stare again at the sky, which has begun to split.

It looks like the plastic straw that the Master had twisted; blood red, with growing electric white wrinkles and fractures running through it. The red is beginning to swirl into purples and blues and changing into the crackling image of the Time Vortex. The screams are starting and the city is crying, but another smile breaks across the Master's face.

"Now that," he says, laughing, "is beautiful." The drums love it, the raw time energy in the wind and air, the eminent destruction as they fall into the hole that Time has created. The Doctor stares in horror, and then yells something in the Master's ear. He laughs at the Doctor's frightened face.

"It's beginning," he laughs, something running down his face. Tears?

The Doctor grabs his hand and yells, "come on," and they run, dodging all types of panicking aliens as they flee to the TARDIS.

Wind roars in his ears with the screams, terror and fear, the hideous violent deaths of millions of people ringing in his ears, all to the beat of his drums, his lovely drums. They stop at the entrance to the Time Agency but it's closed, and no one can be spotted through the window. The Master tugs at his sleeve, yelling at him over the roar about how they need to leave, but somehow it just turns into uproarious laughter; all he feels is mirth towards the situation, driven by the vehement, ceaseless beating of the drums upon his skull.

"Donna has got to be in there!" the Doctor protests, which is typical and not convenient at all to the Master.

"Psychic paper?" he shouts in a sudden bout of inspiration, self-preservation at their need to leave finally kicking in. The Doctor pulls it out, reads it, and grabs the Master's hand, pushing through the TARDIS doors and slamming them shut behind him.

The Master flings himself from the Doctor's grip when they enter the console room. The Doctor runs around the console, hitting buttons and pulling levers in a panic as he pilots them away, far away, somewhere safe from the disaster that Time is pushing at them. He babbles, on and on about a message on the psychic paper and Donna and the Time Agency and an emergency evacuation five minutes ago, but the Master doesn't care if the Doctor's precious friend is safe or not. The Master grips the railings as they tilt forwards and backwards and sideways and upside-down, finally ending up sprawled on the ground when they land, still laughing.

He laughs and laughs and laughs until his sides hurt and every breath is a chore and yet he can't stop, the remains of the drums urging him to fill the empty spaces in his head. The Doctor just exhales slowly and sits beside him on the floor, his face finally unreadable, and looks at his hands until the Master starts. He realizes that he has tears running down his cheeks and wipes them away angrily.

"I can't," he starts, but he doesn't know what he's trying to tell the Doctor. "I don't, I can't, I want, I don't want, I-" The Doctor just nods and shushes him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder that he flings off. He mumbles curses and words, then sentences, groaning, "the drums, the _insatiable_ drums, they don't-" He digs his knees into his chest, runs his hands through his hair violently, making it stick up in every direction and the Doctor look at him pityingly, but he doesn't care. "Stop, can you-" he cuts himself off and tries again, still in fragments, "You. Help," he whispers firmly, gripping the Doctor's wrist. "Stay, don't...Don't leave me alone with them. It hurts, they liked-"

"I'll be here," the Doctor says, very softly, very kindly. The Master slaps him, his palm barely stinging but the Doctor's cheek turning red. Something like fire sparks in the Doctor's sad eyes and he swallows a giggle, surprised and shocked into complacency by the iciness in his gaze. It almost sets him straight; the Doctor always handles him carefully, with respect and righteous anger, yes, but never with the sheer force of the type of twisted hatred that he been blasted with.

"You're so pretty when you're broken," the Master breathes, putting his hand back up to the Doctor's face to stroke the cheek, the drums finally satisfied. His brain begins to clear, but he's still giddy and delirious.

The Doctor closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, grunting in a nearly noncommittal way. The Master kisses him anyways, even though he's not thinking straight and he realizes that he may regret this when he's feeling his old evil self again.

"I'll still be me without the drums, won't I? You're not going to just…leave me?" the Master barely means to say it aloud but it slips out and he sounds so very much like a child; the Doctor feels his hearts ache. He can tell that there's something missing, some essential spark that is driving the Master down some strange road of ups and downs.

"I won't leave you." It's not a lie, but it's not the truth, because the Doctor fully believes that the Master will leave him, and he doesn't know what the drums might mean.

He holds the Master until he can think again, until the Master kisses him one last time and walks hesitantly away, until he feels his hearts begin to break in preparation for the ending that he knows always comes.


	15. New World

The planet is grey. It's nothing but a giant, grey, mountainous pile of rubble that makes up a lifeless planet. The Doctor nearly goes out searching for the white-point star fragment on his own, but the Master appears by his side before he steps out the door.

"We can't spend too long on the surface," the Doctor warns him. "It's steeped in some types of radiation. The TARDIS can't make out what it is; everything on the scanner went kind of…wavy. We only have an hour, even with these radiation tablets." He hands one pill to the Master and takes one himself, looking around anxiously.

"Don't worry," the Master replies, "we're close." The tone which he uses worries the Doctor, but the glance with which he surveys the wasteland of a planet doesn't. His character is vulnerable, it seems, but he's still essentially the same.

They set out onto the rocky surface of the planet quickly, the Doctor following the Master, who's picking his way over the uneven surface like a dog on a fresh scent.

"Are you sure this is a planet? It could be a huge, lifeless quarry," the Master remarks, just as they round a huge rock.

They stop and stare.

Before them, placed upon an outcrop of rocks, a bustling city has been built - under the protection of a large citadel. Neither of them makes a sound for a moment. It's as if a very large, perfectly rounded fishbowl has been turned over a city.

"Life," the Doctor starts dramatically. "It'll find its way anywhere." The Master stumbles a bit, letting the Doctor catch up. He doesn't say anything for a long moment.

"I hope it's not humans," he groans, finally. "You'll be fawning all over them."

"Jealous?" the Doctor shoots at him.

"Of course," the Master snorts sarcastically. He casts a very scrutinizing and suspicious look at the huge structure before them. They continue for another ten minutes, and it's clear that they'll reach the city in another fifteen or so. "It's eerie," he says, reluctantly taking the Doctor's hand, so that the taller man can help him up onto a large boulder.

"The buildings are too skinny, though," the Doctor comments. The Master knows what he's getting at.

"Nothing will ever be the same, you know that. The sky is always wrong, the mountains too colorless, the leaves lack proper shine..."

"Do you miss it?" the Doctor asks suddenly, a little surprised by the Master's sentiment.

"No," he laughs a little. "I hated every second of it. But it was superior to all of _this_ ," he holds out his arms for effect, but he means the greater parts of the universe, not this abandoned and dusty hole.

"I think I found a tunnel!" is the Doctor's surprised reply. Another five minutes' walk would have taken them to the edge of the city, but no entrances are visible on the outside of the glass dome. "This must be the way in." He squats by the edge of what appears to be the opening of a tunnel, staring into the darkened recesses as they descend away from him. "There are markers, here," he points to two metal poles that have been stuck into the ground on either side of the tunnel entrance.

"Brilliant. Another tunnel. Let's go in it and be crushed, suffocate, or find some other way to die!"

"Fine. You're the one who should be leading the way, anyways," the Doctor says grumpily, getting to his feet. "Where should we go?" The Master looks sheepishly at the tunnel.

"It's probably an old, forgotten entrance. We probably don't want to make too much of a fuss here, I doubt they get visitors, and the fragment is definitely in that city. Against my better judgment…"

"Let's go, then," the Doctor says brightly, pulling two torches from his coat pocket (the Master wonders when he had enough time to make his pockets dimensionally transcendental) and tossing one to the Master.

The tunnel is very dark, even with their torchlight flickering from one side of it to the other. The Doctor is still not sure what distance it is appropriate to stand from the Master, and settles on an arm's length, just in case. They go deeper and deeper into the tunnel, but it doesn't seem to lead off anywhere. By now they should be underneath the citadel, but it's unclear if the tunnel runs under it all the way through. The Master continues to lead them both, drawn to the signal of the drumming.

"Look at these drawings," he says suddenly, stopping to look at something painted on the rough stone walls. The first is the perfect picture of beautiful scenery; rusty paint for grass, bright yellow sky, even though it's primitive, it portrays the scene well.

"This place used to be full of life," the Doctor says, looking around. He moves on to the next panel, to the left, after the Master. The setting changes. A crack in what can only be the sky fills the next part of the story.

"Some sort of Rift explosion?" the Master says curiously, sniffing the paint. The Doctor licks it, prompting the Master to protest angrily.

"Time energy," the Doctor says after a moment. "It's even in the paint. They would have grown time sensitive after long term exposure, like us." He doesn't need to commentate for the Master, but he likes to. He also likes to hear the Master's opinion. "But how did their planet get to be like this?"

"It's some type of radiation from the vortex," the Master replies. The next panel in the line of paintings shows something seeping from cracks in the sky, and the people building protection.

"Strange. It's like, some sort of twisted version of -"

"Keep your head," the Master warns. "Remember what we're here for." He turns and continues down the tunnel without further hesitation. The Doctors stares at the drawings for a moment longer, wondering what happened, what their purpose was, before hurrying after the Master.

Suddenly, their torches go out, and the darkness fills up the tunnel once more.

"Master?" the Doctor says hesitantly, taking a careful step forward, and inadvertently running into the man he's so worried about.

"For pity's sake," the Master hisses at the Doctor, grabbing his arm to stop them both from careening farther. "Have you ever heard of batteries?" The Doctor pulls his sonic screwdriver from his pocket and tries to light the tunnel with that instead.

"It's not my batteries. It's something else. It's blocking the electrics on my screwdriver as well," he says softly, so it doesn't echo. "Possibly light waves and sonic waves in general. We'll have to stick together. Take my hand."

"What?" the Master scoffs, "no!"

"Master-"

"That is below my dignity."

"We'll get separated or fall into a hole or something."

"Then good riddance to you, hand-holder!"

Exactly how ridiculous they're being becomes apparent. The Doctor holds back a giggle.

"Fine," the Master sighs.

The Doctor reaches towards the sigh and grabs an arm, then a hand.

"Hand holding," he scoffs. "I hate you," the Master offers, but he doesn't let go.

"I know," the Doctor mumbles. With his free hand, he searches through his pockets. A large, probably multicolored umbrella makes it out somehow, and he accidentally stabs the Master's foot with it.

"Ow! If we were in a rainstorm, you would have pulled out a cane instead."

"We could go back," the Doctor humors him, although he knows very well that they can't just leave this time. This time. What was he thinking? There won't be a next time, and he already knows the Master's reply to this time. Using the umbrella as a cane to feel their way along, they continue forward, blind, hoping that they can feel a sudden drop-off before they experience it. After ten minutes of slow progress, the Master grows impatient.

"We've missed the way into the city because it's some side tunnel we can't see," he speculates.

"I haven't felt any drafts. There would be different air currents if we had -" The Doctor stops suddenly, bringing them both to a sudden halt. The Master doesn't ask 'What is it?' because he knows the Doctor is listening, very very carefully, and he knows how annoying that would be. He just stops, even stops breathing for a moment, and listens as well.

Something is there, some uneven, haggard breathing is coming from something on the ground, feet in front of them. Is it an assassin, waiting to ambush them? The Doctor feels the Master stiffen beside him when he perceives the person, and hears his hesitant whisper, "I think…I think someone's hurt." And of course it's the sound of an injured person, the Doctor should know that. It's a display of just how familiar the Master is with pain and fear that he can recognize an injury just by hearing someone breathing.

They hesitantly walk towards the breathing until they're before it. In the darkness, a soft, faint, flashing green light comes from a pocket. The Master reaches inside the pocket and pulls out a glow-stick, comfortable enough to be held in a hand like a torch. It flashes off and on in a distinct pattern, but the light that it gives off is soft, not alarming.

"It's some sort of organic matter," the Master observes, tapping his hand against the light. It brightens as the liquid inside is agitated. The Doctor's attention has already shifted to the unconscious alien sprawled before them. "Electronics don't work down here, obviously," he continues as the Doctor pulls out his sonic screwdriver, tries to turn it on, and tucks it back into his pocket. He checks for a pulse and breathing, and then takes the light gently from the Master's hands to run the eerie light over the body of the alien.

The alien is humanoid, and probably human, the Master thinks. The Doctor pulls open an eye and shines the light in it. The pupil dilates, the iris shining pale silver, tinted with the green glow of the light. The light also reveals a bruise on the alien's forehead, a growing bump with a sinister purple color. The Doctor squints at it.

"How old is that bruise?" he asks the Master.

"Eight hours," he responds automatically, and then feels a small sense of disappointment from the Doctor. He smiles in pride of his knowledge in injuries.

"He's been out for eight hours, then. It's some sort of coma. His breathing is slow, and his pulse…wait…" he trails off, wrinkles forming on his brow, and pulls a stethoscope from an inner pocket to check the alien's chest. The Doctor's fingers tighten on the stethoscope. "Two hearts."

The Master looks up.

"So?" he shrugs it off immediately. The Doctor continues to examine the body. "Lots of species have more than one-"

"Respiratory bypass."

"How can you even tell that-?"

"Thirteen pairs of ribs, some of them broken, skin temperature just about the same as mine right now...He's…he's…" The Doctor looks up at the Master from across the body. His features are lit by the eerie green glow of the light, shadows creating a sharp contrast. Something lights his eyes alone: hope. The Master scrutinizes the unconscious man carefully, and then turns back to the Doctor.

"We'd know," he says calmly, rationally. "If there were more, we'd know, we wouldn't just stumble-"

" _Put your hands in the air and step away from the body_." A loud voice screeches at them through something that sounds like a megaphone but is probably more advanced and complicated. The Doctor stands up quickly, throwing his hands into the air like he's done it a thousand times. Which he has. The Master reluctantly stands back up and raises his hands as well.

"We're about to be blamed for this, aren't we," he sighs in resignation.

"Probably," the Doctor replies. He turns back to the source of the sound, the end of the tunnel that they were heading to, and raises his voice to drown out the echoing sound of feet coming towards them. "We found this man! He needs medical attention!"

Bright green lights flash over them, casting dramatic shadows and blinding them. The Doctor holds a hand in front of his face to shield his eyes. Gradually, several figures are silhouetted in the tunnel, staring at the Doctor and Master. Large, flashy guns are trained strictly at them.

"You are under arrest!"

* * *

They are frisked, handcuffed, and roughly escorted to a small room within a matter of minutes, all without too much talking. It is all very routine to the Doctor, but the Master unsurprisingly feels resentment towards these people. Through careful observation the Doctor figures that they were in a top secret tunnel and that the soldiers that are escorting them are forced to answer to higher figures. Once they are handcuffed to the table, they are left alone for a moment. Neither of them says a word.

"I will never understand why they always think I _dislike_ handcuffs, when -"

"Master, when they say 'everything you say can and will be used against you…'"

"They didn't actually say that. Aren't we supposed to be let go if they don't?"

"I don't think that applies here."

As the Doctor finishes his sentence, an important-looking man in some sort of black security uniform enters the room. It's obvious that he got the job for his intelligence instead of intimidation, he looks sleek and smart. The Doctor can't think of a plausible story to tell feed to a people that have been hitherto isolated, so he settles and decides that he will tell them half of the truth.

"State your names, please," the man says, looking intently at both of them in turn and analyzing them. He straightens a small, rectangular box on the table, probably a recording device, and a thin data pad, the screen blank.

"The Doctor."

"The Master."

"Real names. We don't have time for games."

"They _are_ our names," the Doctor insists.

"Nonsense. Everyone is officially registered by a name, not a title. State your name so we can bring up your records."

"There's a problem about that," the Doctor says carefully, "we aren't from this planet. We're travelers, explorers. Have you never had visitors?"

"Visitors? From where?" the man looks almost bored.

"We don't represent anywhere in particular; we're just exploring the universe. Look, I'm sorry if we were trespassing, but we were just trying to find a way into the city to-"

"This city is the only place on this entire planet where life exists. Plants, animals, people, all exist in these boundaries. There is no record of life in this solar system, or anywhere else, for that matter." He says all of this in a very bored tone, as if he deals with heretics frequently.

"That would make us the first, then. First contact. You see, we-"

"You're very quiet." The man interrupts the Doctor to speak to the Master, who is staring at his handcuffs in a silent revere.

"The Doctor is much better at delegation than I," he provides simply. "He's telling the same story I would. We're travelers. Lovely planet you have here." He leans back and crosses his legs.

"Our scans reveal that we share the same biology," he says, looking at something that he's brought up on a data pad. "Of course, we'll have to wait for the DNA samples' results, but -"

"That's impossible," the Doctor's mouth drops open. "I mean…the DNA won't be the same."

"The results will not take long. I assure you, we will find out who you are. If you do not answer my questions truthfully, there are other means. Now, what were you doing in those tunnels?"

"We were trying to find a way into the city, to -"

The lights in the room go out. Their interrogator sighs and mumbles, "not again." After a moment, they flicker back on again. The Doctor and Master look around, alert, but the man doesn't seem to be very alarmed or surprised. The Doctor surmises that this is a regular occurrence and that they have regular power outages and chronic problems. He wonders where they get their power. Surely their technology is beyond biofuels and fossil fuels, which probably aren't existent on a planet with no life anyways, but they can't possibly generate enough energy from solar power, he concludes from the atmospheric makeup. He saves these questions for later and refocuses his attention as the interview continues regardless.

"How did you get out of the city?"

"I told you, we didn't!"

"What did you do to the injured man we found?"

"He was unconscious when we found him."

"Do not lie to me!" the man says firmly. "Do you know anything about the Exposition Movement?"

"No, we don't know about your movements or organizations, we're aliens!" he insists. The man stands up abruptly.

"You leave us no choice. We shall have to take your interrogation to a higher level. Follow me. Guards," the man motions guards into the room, which detach them from the table and force them into line.

"This is pointless, you can only find out that we're telling the truth," the Doctor protests, but he is ignored and marched through the hallways that all look the same.

* * *

"Well, what do we have here?" What is most certainly the head scientist looks at them hungrily. "Guinea pigs? Prisoners?" The room that they are brought to is white, blank, and filled with all sorts of technology and people in white lab coats. The ceiling is high and harsh lights shine down, casting strange shadows across the clean floor.

"Good day, Dr. Rapcini. They're prisoners," their original interrogator announces, "I've sent you their case file. We need to evaluate at least one of them and see if they're lying. Security level one."

"Otsac, Raseac, Skoorb, leave," he flicks his hand lazily, still staring at the Doctor and Master.

"Sir? I apologize for interrupting, but I must remind you that you may not carry out an evaluation without the proper administrative approval, even on prisoners." The scientist who speaks up is young and timid, a student type.

"Apology accepted, Raseac, this is beyond your level. I would strongly advise you to leave as soon as possible," Rapcini snarls at the student, who cowers, and hurries after his peers. The door slides shut behind them, and all sympathy seems to be lost. This does not bode well for either of them.

"Your students seem to be getting along well," the first interrogator remarks.

"Yes, it seems so, Sentinel. If only there wasn't so much interference from…shall we say, higher up…?"

"Yes. Well. I need to get back to my investigation. Send me the results when you have them." The man leaves, several of the guards with him. All that remain are the Doctor, Master, a couple of guards by the door, and a small team of scientists. The Doctor looks to the Master and they exchange wary glances.

"The Chief Sentinel has reported that you two intruders were caught in the tunnels," Rapcini has picked up a thin data pad and is apparently reading information off of it. "You injured the Head Technician…Exposition…Oh, dirty business we have here. It would be much simpler to tell the truth, you know. We'll get it out of you eventually."

"We have been telling you the truth! We have no reason to lie to you," the Doctor protests.

 _Don't give us one_ , the Master thinks.

"We only have enough energy ration available for one interrogation," one of the scientists at the side of the room reports, bent over a computer screen, reading quickly scrolling data on a computer. Rapcini sighs and nods his understanding.

"We've been answering all of your questions!"

"A simple mind-evaluation is all we require," Rapcini assures the Doctor. "It will not harm you in any way." He sighs, as if he really regrets it, but the Master sees in his eyes that he's not overly interested in pain.

"He's a Doctor," the Master snorts, "He knows that lie." The man blinks and looks at him strangely.

"The process has never harmed anyone." Before he can ask further questions, a chair rises dramatically out of the floor. Wires, secured by some painstaking method, run from the chair and into the floor. A helmet, wires hanging from it (presumably to be attached to the temples), is secured on an arm over the chair. There are clamps on the legs and arms.

"No…How can they-?"

"A mind probe," the Doctor murmurs, "basically."

"On the contrary, alien, it is Telepathic Wave Extraction Equipment."

"T.W.E.E.?" the Doctor says, the corners of his mouth turning up. The Master covers his own mouth with his hand as he watches him walk closer. The scientists stare warily at him, but he stops about a foot from the chair. The Doctor examines the equipment for a moment. He hasn't seen a mind probe with this much power in awhile. It's primitive in its aggression, and hasn't been developed to be precise. He hesitates before announcing, "It could kill one of us."

"Nonsense!" Rapcini signals a few scientists to begin working, "I invented this technology three years ago. It is unable to harm anyone."

"We aren't like you!" the Master protests. "We're built differently psychically."

"Psychically? Our scans reveal that you are one of us."

"Have you looked in our DNA yet? Because there are some differences there that are sure to blow your minds!" the Master says severely. The Doctor shoots him a look, warning him not to give too much away. They can't have every race developing the ability to regenerate. That was hardly successful on their own planet.

"Our scans detect nothing unusual so far. When the DNA tests come back, we will, of course, scrutinize the data more closely." Rapcini smiles predatorily, not that the Master appreciates this man's cruelty anymore.

"Even if our bodies are extremely similar, our minds are built differently, if you'll just listen to me, I know more about it than the Doctor; I actually paid attention in class!"

"Scan this one," the scientist turns to the other technicians and guards, who take the Master by the arms. "He possesses superior knowledge."

"No!" the Master shouts, trying to shake them off. He fails. "No, no, no! That thing will torture me, I'm more...psychically sensitive, I'll go brain dead!"

"Whatever you do not want us to see, we will find in your mind." A note of panic enters the Master's voice as he tries to calm down and pleads for them to stop. He doesn't look at the Doctor, anyone but him; because he doesn't want to be assured that the Doctor is witnessing this pathetic reaction. He already feels very stupid. They begin to strap him down in the chair. He falls limp for a moment and then tenses against the restraints, so that they are loose. He falls silent and defeated, just glaring at his captors when he realizes there is no escape. The guards and scientists step away from him and fall silent themselves.

"Scan me instead," the Doctor finally says in a firm voice that echoes on the high ceiling.

"And how would that suit your plans?" the scientist asks. He levels his gaze.

"It wouldn't," the Doctor admits. "But extracting the Master's brain waves isn't suitable to your plans, either. As you'll find out, I need them, and who knows if you'd even be able to read them under all of that _drumming_." They look at the Master with curious expressions, the way the Rani used to look at an animal just before she'd decided that she would one day dissect it.

"You do not believe that it could kill you, then?"

"I'm certain it could," the Doctor's voice lowers. "Just not him, please."

"Why not?"

He doesn't have a good enough answer.

"You will not lie, as you know we will discover the truth either way. You care about this man, and are afraid to admit it. Emotions betray you."

The Doctor looks at the toes of his shoes. The Master stares at him from his seat, held captive by straps and fear. All is still.

"Yes," he whispers. "Please, what if it was your…Let me take that risk. We share the same knowledge."

"Take this man instead," the scientist nods at the Doctor after a brief hesitation, eyeing him closely. "Keep an eye on the other; restrain him if you need to." They release the Master and escort the Doctor to the chair, switching their places.

The Master turns to the scientist. "He is innocent. If you kill him…" the Master trails off, deciding it's better for both of their sakes not to finish the sentence.

"If he is innocent, you will, of course, be compensated," the scientist replies lazily, before returning to the machine's controls. The Master decides he doesn't like scientists at all. A whirring noise begins and he turns to watch the process begin, entranced by the technology and horror of it all. He feels himself wanting to _enjoy_ this and then feels a small, strangely satisfying clench of disgust in his stomach. He tries to breathe and distance himself from it all.

The metal helmet is lowered onto the Doctor's head. His hands clench on the sides of the chair in fear; his knuckles turn white in anticipation. This is the cruelest part: the waiting.

Rapcini reads off settings. The Time Lords make eye contact for one moment. _I'm sorry_ , the Doctor's eyes read. _You idiot_ , the Master replies.

"And…three…two…one…activate."

For the first moment, the Doctor's eyes close and he is paralyzed. His eyes flicker back and forth rapidly. He could be dreaming. Then, the screams begin. The Master's hands clench and he grits his teeth.

"Keep it steady," the head scientist commands. "Entering Phase two. The Doctor's screams grow and grow in pitch and volume, until he is desperately howling.

"Release him!" the Master has had enough, finally. He turns to the team of scientists, making the guards wary, and yells, "You're killing him!"

"There is no danger. It is merely a physical reaction to the intrusion past his mental barriers. He has built them unusually strong against us. We will find what he is hiding."

"He's not hiding anything; he's just more psychically developed than your primitive brains are used! Let him go."

"Primitive," the scientist tilts his head slightly. "I'm not arguing with a prisoner, much less one with a superiority complex." The Master flies at him, but his guards hold him back, leaving him to contemplate what murder would be the best for a man like him.

"Sir, these readings are off the scale," one of the lesser scientists is staring at the readings on a computer screen and typing quickly.

"Keep it steady," the scientist retains.

"But sir -" the Master senses the guards beginning to relax their grip and dives at the controls, trying to turn off the machine. They grab him again just in time. More guards enter, these with simple, smooth, white handcuffs that the Master admires the workmanship of. They are tight and make the skin around his wrists tingle; he shakes his head and reminds himself that this is not the time. The Doctor's screams continue, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

The doors slide open and a woman flies into the room, violet robes flying around her.

"Override 437/A," she snaps into the shocked face of the head scientist. Her voice is precise and clipped, like her sharp, clawing nails and hawk-like glare. "Authorization 9/Z. Turn it off, now."

"But, Madam Aoen, the process-"

"If you don't turn this off, I will guarantee that you will be banished to the outlands before the day is over." He turns pale and, with hardly a moment's hesitation, flicks his hand weakly at his team of scientists, who begin to shut down the machinery. The Doctor's screams subside and then end, leaving an eerie, ringing silence.

The Master can hear the computers humming, and squints at the woman who rescued the Doctor. She appears to be preoccupied with assuring that the Doctor is safe. He looks unconscious at first, but one of the junior scientists who is helping to free him of the straps offers him some water. The Doctor accepts, blinking and trying to catch his breath. He is drenched in a cold sweat. The woman asks him several things before she is satisfied.

She walks back to the Master, and turns to him now.

"Thank you," the Master smiles at the woman with all of his charm, bows slightly, and kisses her hand instead of shaking it. She raises one severe, dark eyebrow.

"Watch out for this one," she informs the guards, and walks back over to where the Doctor is now standing on insecure feet. The Master watches her with some surprise and a little admiration. After a hesitant glare at the guards, who have released him, he rushes to the Doctor, who is introducing himself to the woman.

"Doctor," she repeats, trying the new word out on her tongue, "what a strange name. What does it mean?"

"A doctor is a healer of sorts."

"What kind of healer are you?" she looks curiously at him.

"Oh, I dabble in a bit of everything. Who may I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"Madame Aoenlaofoeaone Vwe'erto," she takes his hand, runs an eye over him critically, and observes, "You're not as charming as your friend, but you may actually mean it. You may call me Aoen. "The Doctor looks from her to the Master with a vaguely amused expression on his face.

"I'm assuming you made them stop the machine?"

"Of course. They're too, shall we say scientific?, to do it on their own."

"Thank you very much," he nods, then feels dizzy again, almost falling over. The Master hesitates before catching him. The Doctor looks at him in surprise, and is met by the antipathy and slight embarrassment that he expects. It clears his head a bit.

"Let's bypass the other formalities and allow you to rest. You have gone through a great, unnecessary ordeal, and I'm sure we will have plenty of time for delegation. Do you require a chair? The room is not far." The Doctor feels strange, relying on the Master to prevent him from falling over, but the Master replies for him.

"I'll handle it," he says quickly, slinging the Doctor's arm around his shoulders to better support him. The Master is warm to the touch; his scent spills over the Doctor in a wave. The woman nods and motions for them to follow her into the similar, blank hallway. She leads them around a few corners, not once meeting person nor unique object. They could very easily be lost, or back where they started.

After a few minutes they arrive at a plain white door, which slides away at the woman's retinal confirmation. A plain white room lies within. It doesn't contain much space, except for a bed, two chairs, a table, and a door that probably leads to a simple bathroom.

"You can rest in here. You won't be disturbed."

"Thank you," the Doctor replies. They walk through the threshold and the door slides shut behind them with a click. The Doctor waits a moment before trying to open it with the button on the side of the door. "Locked, of course."

"Of course it would be. Is it just me, or does she remind you of-"

"Romana?" the Doctor finishes. "Of course, she's a politician."

"Politicians," the Master snorts, "I ruined them for you, of course, didn't I? But her, she's very…" he trails off, spotting the look on the Doctor's face. "Jealous?"

"We should probably stop talking," he warns, looking around and rubbing the back of his neck. "The room is definitely bugged. They're recording everything we say."

"I don't see any cameras, though."

"Perhaps they consider that intrusive. I get the feeling that they don't get many prisoners. They don't know what to do with us," he yawns and stretches out on the bed. "Still, all this talking. Giving them clues and such, if they decide we're a threat."

"No talking?" the Master pouts, joining him on the bed to whisper, "What do you suggest we do instead?"

The Doctor rolls over and buries his face in a pillow. His voice sounds muffled as he replies, "sleep." He curls up on the other side and closes his eyes, waiting for the weight to leave the other side of the mattress. It doesn't disappear, however, but spreads out as the Master stretches, lying back to rest his eyes for a bit. He's not going anywhere, after all. The drumming grows slightly louder than it was before, but it's just the fragment, he hopes. The Doctor is oblivious to this, however, as he has already slipped into unconsciousness.


	16. Diffident Deals

"You're Time Lords?"

The Master looks up.

"Yes, Madam -"

"Just Aoen, please," she replies sharply. Aoen is leaning against the wall near the closed door, staring at him like a hawk stares at its prey. The people of this planet look slightly feline and avian in their idiosyncrasy.

"You may call me the Master," he smiles, holding his own trademark grin back. He's already suspected here.

"And that is the Doctor, yes. Both of you are Time Lords?"

"Yes."

"Time…" she trails off. " What do you do?"

"Travel, mostly." The Master wonders why he's telling the truth. "He likes saving people and planets," he nods in the sleeping Doctor's direction and wonders if he's lying awake and listening. His breathing seems to be slow and even, but he could easily be pretending. "Of course, you already know all of that."

"Yet we don't know much about _you_." He isn't sure whether Aoen means him personally, or Time Lords in general. "What is the 'time' part for, if all you do is travel?" She suspects that they can travel in time, although the Doctor may not have revealed that, he realizes, and decides to keep that particular nugget of information to himself.

"We're time sensitive. You are, too, aren't you?" She nods in conformation. "There were drawings in the tunnels. Some kind of Rift activity. This planet should never have been able to support life."

"We didn't evolve from this planet, that has been made clear," she explains. "From what we can gather, some sort of time event caused our ancestors' arrival on this planet. They begun a colony underground, and quickly developed into this society. What should have taken ten thousand years took one thousand."

"Time event?" The Master's eyebrows shoot up. "Is there any other life on this planet?"

"Only in this city. There aren't even any native animals."

"This planet should be a deserted, uninhabitable rock." She watches him speak like - well, like a hawk, and the Master knows that he's giving away his superior knowledge. Suddenly, he doesn't care anymore. They already know enough about them, this can't hurt. "You must have arrived here through a rift in time and space." A thought bursts into his mind. "Tell me, where do you get your power?"

"We have a generator," Aoen seems surprised by his question and answers simply and suspiciously. "Few understand it."

"Ah." It's obvious now. "It's broken, isn't it? And you want us to fix it."

"How can you tell?" she seems dejected and desperate, now. She isn't very good at hiding her emotions.

"The power outage earlier, while we were being interviewed. The Doctor noticed it too. You have problems. We fix problems. We're still here. You wouldn't keep us unless you had a reason."

"Our technology isn't very advanced. The ancients, oddly, seem to have had higher knowledge, but even it has been lost with time. We have food, shelter, energy, and the technology that has been handed down generation after generation, but little else. We seem to have inherited...apathy." He sees in her posture, in her eyes, and in the tone of her voice how disgusted this woman is with her own people. In a different world, she would have left long ago, but it was impossible here. "We rely on a generator for power. Unfortunately, there is something wrong with it that we cannot understand. You found our Head Technician in the tunnels. He is in a coma, and the criminal who put him there was his only apprentice. There is no way for us to fix the machine without assistance."

"You want our help," he observes simply.

"Incorrect," she looks sharply at him. "I want _his_ help," she nods to the Doctor, who still appears to be sleeping peacefully. The Master knows it's impossible for him to have slept through all of that.

"Why do you think he'll give it?" The Master asks, testing her to see if she'll threaten them. "If you apparently know that he can help."

"If he can figure out how to fix the machine, or fix the man behind it, then that is all we ask. We are very sure that he is capable of either."

Her usage of 'we' makes it sound as if she's playing part in a very big and complex version of Good Cop, Bad Cop. The Master isn't fond of that game.

"Don't think we're threatening you," she assures him. "You can leave whenever you wish and no harm will come to you. I just cannot believe that his conscious would let him leave a dying city."

"Dying? You seem to be thriving."

"Of course it seems like that. As if we'd let anyone know the difference. And yet, as you said, our generator is broken, and we do not have the knowledge to fix it. It is not only that. Something is coming, something we can all feel. The people are hesitant to acknowledge it, but it's out there. Waiting for us." He just stares at the woman in front of him. "Can you feel it?" Something in her reminds him of himself; that sensation of waiting for an impending force and doom.

"He'll help you."

"Can you assure -"

"He will. I know." Aoen scrutinizes him harshly for a long moment, then turns sharply and presses her palm against a sensor near the door, opening it. "I'll have them send in some food." She is about to leave when she turns back and says, "Your DNA tests came back. You were correct; there is something…strange about your DNA. They can't figure it out. I'm sure you'll be willing to explain what this… _regeneration_ truly is."

The door slides shut, and the Master sighs.

"They never should have gotten into my head," the Doctor's voice, heavy with exhaustion, declares suddenly. The Master turns to see him rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He isn't sure how long he had been listening and isn't sure if he should ask. "They know exactly what cards to play."

"They could easily have threatened us," the Master answers.

"But they didn't."

"Of course you would mention that. They're appealing to your morality, et cetera. Perhaps they're just desperate, twisted, and clever, and they want to see if you'll help them willingly before they force you to." The Master knows that they are listening to him and he doesn't care. He wants to find the last fragment and leave this place. It isn't good for the Doctor, and the Master knows he's going to get attached. There is something very _wrong_ about this place; something familiar and right and obvious, even though he really doesn't want to speculate and get caught up in some kind of moral battle with the Doctor.

" _'Desperate, twisted, and clever…'_ That's a large compliment, coming from you." The Doctor tries to stand up, but falls over. He yelps and looks down at his white converse trainers, the shoelaces of which have been tied together. "Very mature." The Master only grins.

"Have you noticed anything…odd about them?" He stops short of hinting too much, in case the Doctor realizes what he's getting at.

"Nearly identical biology, time sensitive, connected to a strange space-time event, arrived through a rift, developed advanced technology and a bustling citadel within one thousand years. No, not at all." He isn't stupid. The Doctor finishes tying his shoes properly and sighs, a deep, controlled sound.

"Don't get emotional, and don't get attached. You know we aren't here to get involved." Those words sound strange in his mouth.

"I always get involved."

"I know." The Master sighs. "You're going to help them, then?"

"Of course."

"Figured."

The Doctor looks over to him, muttering, "It wouldn't hurt to care. Just once."

"On the contrary, it would be excruciating." The Doctor pouts at his response. "Why are you being such a sourpuss?"

"What?" he protests. "I'm not, that's you." The Doctor sounds too defensive, and rubs the back of his neck, a sure sign that he feels awkward.

"I'm always like this," the Master smiles as it dawns on him. "You're…you're jealous."

"Me? No…of whom?"

"I was planning with her; I was the one finding information for once. And you just listened, to find out more, because you couldn't reason with someone that knew your ideas and motives. And she flirted with me." He gloats, just a tiny bit, but enough to bother the Doctor.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm always ridiculous, and so are you. You can't deny I've got valid reasoning here."

"Shut up."

"The Green Monster of Jealousy has taken over you! Oh no!"

"I've met the Green Monster of Jealousy. Ended up having to snog Rose's mum."

"Jackie Tyler?"

"You met her before she went to the parallel universe? She came on to me when I first met her."

" _Jacqueline Tyler_?"

"I'm sorry, are you jealous?"

They're saved from bickering by someone bringing them food.

* * *

"Are you telling us that you are aliens?"

The High Council does not take to their news very well. The Doctor isn't taking to them very well, as is his habit, and the Master doesn't take to anyone very well. He nods enthusiastically and they turn to Aoen, who is one of the younger and more vibrant members of the council. The Master is beginning to get antsy, now that he sees the similarities between this race and the society on Gallifrey. The Doctor will most definitely feel guilty if he has to leave these people without helping. He has not mentioned the crystal fragment yet, which is probably wise. It could be some type of relic or other important artifact to these people, and they don't want to get into a position where they can't steal it and run away.

"Yes, Minister, that is exactly what we have been trying to explain. We are travelers, and it is an honor to be the first to come into contact with your people." The Doctor is trying extremely hard, at least. The council dissolves into official-sounding whispers.

"Very well," the old man nods, "we are authorizing your access to the generator, although you will be under surveillance and we expect no less than the best of your ability, if you wish to remain here under our highest hospitality. We will upgrade you to a full suite, if you need accommodations during you stay here." It is a very roundabout and boring way to say "help us or else," a manner which the Master has come to associate more with eighteenth century humans. The Doctor takes his chance.

"Actually, we have a small spaceship…an interstellar vehicle, if you will...with the proper accommodations. There may be some helpful tools, as well. It is a short distance from the city." This is not quite playing into their hands, which the Minister doesn't realize. He looks to the others in the council greedily and quickly agrees to send someone to find the TARDIS and bring it to them immediately. They exchange well-wishes and are dispatched to follow Aoen, now their guide and guardian, to the generator room. They walk through a few quarters and get into an elevator, which hums steadily as they are brought up to the top of a very high building. The Doctor feels the gravity grow lighter, something that Aoen might not feel. It makes him feel bouncy and a little off balance at first.

"You handled that quite well," the Master offers in the silence, a rare compliment.

"Thanks," the Doctor barely hides his smug look, "it's all about mastering the language." The Master snorts and is about to swat at him when they realize that Aoen has stopped and come to a halt. She sends them a wry, suffering look and they swallow giggles, feeling like children. An idea strikes the Doctor.

"I don't mean to offend you, but I am curious. How old are you, Aoen?" She doesn't glare at them for this.

"76," she responds after a moment, and then unlocks the door with her palm, eye, and a password. She looks about 30 Earth years by human standards, and their years are only a little different from Earth's and Gallifrey's. He estimates that her race can age much more quickly than the Time Lords, but more slowly than the humans that she resembles. She is one step from being Gallifreyan already. It doesn't sit in his gut well, that thought. To think that the Master is the only other Time Lord in existence, but people so close and yet so far have built a nearly shining civilization right under his nose.

The Master whistles and the Doctor is brought back to reality, to the generator room which they have just entered. It isn't kept as clean as the other rooms, with cobwebs at the high ceiling, grease and dirt on the floor, and slightly foggy, humid air. The noise that permeates the room is not extremely loud, but it would become annoying to speak over after a long time. The Doctor is taking his time to look over the machine, but the Master has not wasted any time in examining it. The Doctor wonders if it's his different experience or simply his way of looking at things. He's always seemed to have more of a way with machines than the Doctor, who piloted a rickety TARDIS for hundreds of years and still has no idea how to fly her properly.

"She's hundreds of years old," Aoen offers, "nearly nine hundred." The Doctor does a quick calculation…that's probably four generations, "We don't know much about her. She's had ten Head Technicians. The first four committed suicide. The other six have been progressively clueless, and all instruction seems to have been destroyed. Her secrets lie with cursed, dead men."

"Ah, a curse." The Doctor joins the Master to see exactly what he's examining so closely. "Brilliant. Tell me, while you're being so helpful, is there any particular reason electronics don't work in the tunnels?" Aoen answers immediately.

"Electronics? We send out a pulse signal that prevents non-organic energies from being used. It discourages political activists." She looks at them expectantly for more questions.

"Political activists?" the Doctor asks curiously.

"None of our business," the Master mutters to him. He doesn't want to get involved in that type of thing. "Ahem," he clears his throat, "You called the machine a she," the Master says tentatively. "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know," Aoen accepts their strange questions as they come now, leaving her suspicions. She might even believe that they are aliens now. "She has always been a 'she' to the few of us who know."

"And, the thousands of other citizens?"

"Are unconcerned. They are never taught to ask questions. The ones who _do_ end up in my position." She smiles, a proud woman. The Doctor and Master turn back to examining the machine.

" _She_ …like something reaching out…" the Master looks over the machine, from the mirrors and cut glass artfully casting light into a concentrated beam, to the greasy metal parts moving in a steady beat, _one-two-three-four_.

The entire machine has been built around the last white-point star fragment.

* * *

When they appear to be busy enough and caught in some boring task, Aoen leaves them. They are perfectly aware that they are being watched and recorded, but the Master needs to talk this out.

"She's very artfully made," the Doctor comments idly, putting on his glasses. The Master hates those glasses so much in that they are utterly distracting in the strangest and most inconvenient way. "What I don't understand is how they have two hearts but no regeneration. It's like…early, early, early pre-R.E."

"Doctor."

"And not just reminiscent of that, I'd say they are, and they came through some sort of rift."

"Doctor."

"Obviously they just built it up from there."

"Doctor!" the Master interrupts loudly. The Doctor blinks and looks surprised at him. "You don't need those glasses," he mutters, not sure of what to say. The Doctor ignores him, barely registering his reason for interrupting him but not listening to it.

"I can't quite understand how she generates all of that power, though. Light? We're at the highest point in the highest tower, obviously, and they're letting light through those windows. Look how they're cut, so that it's concentrated. And even the outside of the building, as we saw from outside the Citad-City, we saw how it was…" the Doctor flounders, lost and distracted. He takes off his glasses and shoves them haphazardly into his shirt pocket. His jacket has been discarded on the floor with the Master's; away from the grease that now mars his white shirt. The Master sighs.

"It looks like a giant disco ball, except the top is like a bowl. No matter where the light hits, it will be optimally refracted to come into those windows, and refract around those mirrors and the glass lenses, which refine and strengthen the beam, which goes through the fragment, which somehow causes those parts to move, and generate electricity. The problem is that we don't understand how the crystal causes them to move."

"Yeah…I suppose they couldn't get enough energy from solar alone?" the Doctor trails off, looking at the white-point star fragment.

"Not the right kind of materials, probably. Metal seems to be scarce, all types of fuels would be nonexistent due to the lack of life, and it's harder to store that type of energy," the Master is just shooting off the information he's stored at the top of his head, he doesn't really care now that he knows what they have to do. The Doctor seems distracted, still. He isn't coming up with any ideas. "Look, I made a spaceship out of sugar, string, and staples, and I was only human. This is nothing." He doesn't promise that he'll fix anything.

The Master wonders when the TARDIS will get there so they can discuss what happens next. He decides to speak in a roundabout way. He could always psychically communicate, but it's not a good idea, considering how loudly the drums are pounding in his head with the close proximity to the fragment.

"What would happen if a component was removed or changed, do you think?" he suggests. The Doctor jolts out of whatever reverie he's caught in this time.

"It would cease to work." The Master should know this, the Doctor thinks, he's more…then his eyes light up as he catches up to reality and the Master's way of speaking. "The entire system has been built around it." His mouth opens slightly. The entire system, revolving around the fragment of a white-point star. Genius.

"And all it does is channel light power, and somehow make the rest of the machine turn." The Master ducks into the contraption, dodging and ducking under parts, cogs, and mechanics to get as close to the fragment as possible without interfering with the light beams or the moving machinery. It's barely an arm's length away from where he stands. He could take it now, if he wanted to, and run. Although, where to and with what are unsaid. The Doctor ducks underneath the machinery with him and lays a hand on his shoulder. He puts his glasses on again (the Master tenses, thinking, _damn, what is it with those glasses?_ ) and tries to see underneath the shimmering fragment.

The fragment of white-point star is set into a small, thin metal pedestal, like a stone set into a pendant. The Doctor can only assume that the light is channeled through a hollow tube that acts as a pedestal, and somehow through the box that is underneath it. At the bottom of this box, several mechanical arms pump and pump and pump and pump, in a distinct rhythm.

"It would be much easier if they had schematics, or if we could take it apart."

"'Take it apart to see how it works.' What a great strategy. I see your plans have improved with age." The Doctor stands up and looks at the Master, and then the crystal. The Master snatches the glasses from his face, ignoring his protests.

"We need the TARDIS," the Doctor sighs, scratching the back of his head and banging his elbow against a metal part of the machine. "Ow!" he yelps, his high squeak ringing with the high-pitched noise of the metal.

"What kind of metal is this?" the Master says, gently stroking an unmoving portion of the machine. "She-it is very strange."

"Like I said, she's almost artful. The way the light arcs, the way that the machinery moves. She generates power for the entire city."

"She. She. She. Everyone keeps saying she. I said she. You keep saying she. And yet we don't even know-"

"I have your TARDIS machine!" Aoen calls at them from the entrance. And, sure enough, she is accompanied by several guards, who are wheeling in the blue box. "We couldn't get inside."

"Of course not!" the Doctor smiles, happy to see his ship, and ducks quickly under the machinery to greet the blue box.

"She's quite small, and would be cramped. Are you sure you don't want rooms?" He smiles and strokes the side of the TARDIS.

"Oh, we'll be fine." Aoen raises an eyebrow. The Master quickly joins the Doctor.

"Oh, go ahead," he sighs, rolling his eyes. The Doctor is nearly brimming with excitement. He likes Aoen, and is hesitant and yet eager to show her the TARDIS. He pulls a key from his pockets and unlocks her. The door creaks open loudly, that simple, wonderful sound, and they step into the TARDIS one by one.

The Doctor rushes to the console with a sudden bound of energy, as usual, bringing up specs about the machine as quickly as he can, before Aoen decides to confiscate the TARDIS or something worse. She looks around in awe. Somehow, an unspoken agreement passes between the two Time Lords that they will not mention that she can travel in time.

"It's…it's…like the box of Rassilon," she breathes

"Rassilon?" the Doctor looks up, eyes wide, his research forgotten.

Aoen looks puzzled. "Yes, it's a nursery rhyme."

"Nursery rhyme?" the Doctor looks desperate, and the Master closes his eyes and inwardly groans when he sees it. The Doctor has fallen in love with these people, despite everything. They are an innocent version of Gallifrey, a more primitive people, and here is the evidence.

Aoen gives the Doctor another queer look and begins to recite:

"Rassilon seeks his hero's ship,  
Rassilon needs the web to rip,  
Rassilon sups time at a drip,  
And life aside, he's seeking.

Rassilon built a small magic box,  
Rassilon marked it with locks,  
Rassilon stops time that tocks,  
To hide the rooms he's keeping."

The Master looks confused. It sounds familiar. He turns to the Doctor, asking, "What is it?"

"That's…" the Doctor looks to the Master, desperate. "You used to chant that at me, when we were little, to scare me. The words are different, but do you remember?" He shakes his head, and the Doctor reluctantly begins to recite part of the rhyme.

"Zagreus sits inside your head,  
Zagreus lives among the dead,  
Zagreus sees you in your bed,  
And eats you when you're sleeping."

"But that's just a -" The Doctor continues over the Master's protests.

"Zagreus seeks the hero's ship,  
Zagreus needs the web to rip,  
Zagreus sups time at a drip,  
And life aside, he's sweeping."

"That's similar, but it's just nonsense," the Master protests. "Zagreus isn't exactly a rare nursery rhyme, there are thousands of worlds out there, spewing that. A coincidence."

"It happened to me."

"…Ah. Typical."

"I'm sorry," Aoen interrupts, "but are you saying that our ancestors came from your planet?" The Doctor looks to the Master, speechless.

"It would appear so."

"So we're like cousins."

"I…suppose so."

"What's the planet called?"

"It was called Gallifrey," the Doctor says, feeling his voice break. He wants to go on, he so very wants to go on and tell this nice woman what his planet was like, where her ancestors came from, but he can't.

"Was?"

"That's enough," the Master interrupts sternly. He doesn't see where this woman has the right. He goes over to the Doctor and lays a gentle hand on his back. "I'm sorry," he whispers to the Doctor.

"Sorry?" the Doctor's eyes look scared by the hope that he has. Slowly, this melts into anger as he realizes what the Master means. "No. No. You're not. You can't, not now-"

"There isn't any other way," he whispers. "We have to. Now. Time is running out."

"Running out? Yes, but surely we have enough time to save these people!"

"We don't." The Master brings up new information on the scanner, things that the Doctor has not yet seen. Readings from the Time Vortex, from planets located by rifts. Death and destruction, much as they had seen on Bonitalla. Even Earth. It was all threatened. "The very fabric of Time and Space is unraveling! First, the farthest reaches, next the most heavily travelled sections. Specifically, Earth's timeline. It's ready to collapse. Our own timeline is hanging from a thread. The Web of Time can't take this much longer."

"How long do you think we've got?" the Doctor's mouth goes dry as he scrolls through the info.

"It's now or never."

"But…how can we take the fragment? We don't even know what the machine is!" The Doctor protests. The Master shakes his head, typing a few things into the scanner and bringing up new readings.

"Read that," he says hesitantly, glancing at the rapidly changing Gallifreyan symbols that tell another story completely. He takes a few steps back and watches the Doctor with faint concern.

"That's…impossible." The Doctor is breathless, reading and rereading the information.

"I had a hunch," the Master admits. Aoen comes up behind them and reads the screen.

"What? Something about…dying? Living? I can't read this; it's filled with double meanings and other drivel." The Master looks at Aoen in surprise that she can even read the scanner, but of course she knows some version of Gallifreyan. The Doctor has already rushed out of the TARDIS and is staring at the machine.

"Amazing. It's a TARDIS," he whispers.


	17. Genocide

"A TARDIS must have fallen through a rift. She was incapacitated. They used her, and the…other materials that they got, to create a generator." The Master sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose.

"Are you two going to explain any of this to me?" Aoen asks, nearly fuming.

"Probably not, sorry," the Master offers her an insincere smile.

"What are you made of, eh?" The Doctor has already walked over to the machine and is stroking the metal, as he sometimes does to his TARDIS, trying to comfort her. "You're an early type, earlier than my old dear, made of different stuff, parts and pieces. That's why I didn't recognize you. What are you, then? Still there?"

"Doctor…" the Master makes a pained face after hearing his baby talk. "She's barely there. She's dying."

"She is nothing but machinery and a heart. This is horrible. They had to do it like this, but it's painful and horrible. Worse than a paradox machine." He shoots a very dark look at the Master. "She's powered by the solar power. They channel it through the white-point star fragment, and she converts the energy. What a sacrifice." The Doctor runs his hand through his hair and begins pacing back and forth through the dimly lit room. It's not just a people that are at risk; now, it's one of the last TARDISes. He can imagine that his TARDIS is already comforting her psychically, but he doesn't know what to do. There isn't a way to get the fragment and have everyone live.

"A sacrifice," the Master mumbles.

"We can't -"

"There's no other -"

"You were searching for the fragments of a white-point star," Aoen says. They both look at her. The Doctor feels dread creep into his stomach. "You called it a white-point star fragment. You've found it."

"Sorry? I don't -" the Doctor tries to act dumb immediately.

"Don't insult my intelligence. Your mind had a lot of things on it: people, places, technology, him…" the Master looks from her to the Doctor, lost by the understanding that they share. "You're after the last fragment. You need that. But you can't have it."

This is a mistake. If she actually knew the Doctor, the Master realizes, she would never say a thing like that.

"But it's the fate of the _entire universe_ ," he says darkly. The Master is thoroughly enjoying this version of the Doctor, dark, hurt, and willing to do nearly anything. "Either we take that fragment or everyone dies."

"You don't know that, and I don't know that. You can't have it. Thousands of lives are at stake."

"Countless more are at stake!"

"You can't decide this."

"Yes, I can!"

"No, you can't," the Master steps in. He's in an even darker mood than the Doctor, which isn't hard. His eyes flash dark and grimly at the scene. "Your pathetic little planet isn't worth the universe. You'll die either way."

"Can you be sure? What disaster is going to destroy us?"

"The disaster that will be caused by Time ripping through everything. You won't have to worry about your precious generator, because no one will be around. They will never have lived. You will be erased from Time itself."

"So?" Aoen turns fierce and snappish, snarling back at the Time Lords. "Who gave you the right to do this? To decide who lives and who dies?"

"We were born with that right," someone answers. It takes the Master a moment to realize that those words stole from the Doctor's lips, not his. He doesn't recognize this version of the Doctor. "We are the only Time Lords in existence, and we have the right to decide what is Right and Wrong in Time." The Master wants this power, loves this power, but he also wants to scream at the Doctor, _since when did you begin to care about your birthright?_ He memorizes the look on the Doctor's face, one filled with such darkness that he's only ever seen there in his dreams. He's wanted to see the Doctor like this for ages. And yet something is there that ruins it for him, something that tints the edges the wrong color and makes him want the old Doctor back to balance him out.

But he just stands there. He watches. Frozen.

And the Doctor turns towards the machine, turns away from Aoen, and walks like it's a death march. She is right behind him, of course, but he pinches a pressure point and she falls to the floor, unconscious and mostly unharmed. The guards have been sent away, with them erroneously labeled as "mostly harmless," and there is no one to stop the Doctor except the Master. The tables have most definitely been turned.

He looks from the open TARDIS door to Aoen, to the Doctor, and to the shining light he knows is the fragment. He takes a deep breath.

The Doctor stands there, ready to duck into the machine and take the fragment, kill this shambles of a TARDIS, and doom this civilization. No energy means that the city would fail within a few chaotic hours. There is no one in the way of his righteous path.

The Master walks up behind him, thinking of the Doctor's silent anger, his dark mood, and the vibrancy of the man in front of him. He lays a hand on his shoulder and the Doctor turns, looks to him with regret and pain clear on his face already. And the Master reaches up to kiss him, long and hard, the Doctor giving in to him for a moment.

The Doctor falls to the floor after a moment.

The Master has an awful lot of experience with termination.

* * *

The Doctor wakes up on the TARDIS floor. It's hard, cold, and very uncomfortable. Sounds slowly hum into existence around him and he feels safer, home in his TARDIS. He can feel his head and neck aching from an invisible blow and his involuntary nap on the floor. He looks around him and things begin to register. He's in the TARDIS. In the Time Vortex.

"Sometimes I think you know, at least subconsciously, but you don't want it to register because you don't want the end result." The Master is standing above him, to his right, looking intently at the TARDIS console.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. Just calling your masochism into question, that's all. Pretty much an average, normal activity for me." The Master wipes the screen clear and stands back as the Doctor stands up, looking suspiciously around.

"What did you do?"

"It's all about me, isn't it?" The Master crosses his arms and turns around, taking a few steps away from the Doctor. "When really, it's all about _you._ "

"Master, what did you do?" The Doctor is confused and worried now. All he can remember is blacking out.

"Nothing you weren't going to do already. I took the last fragment. Easy-peasy. Oh, and knocked you out, but that was a pleasure." The Doctor still can't see the Master's face with his back turned to him, but his voice is just as snide and cruel as always. Somehow, it lacks the extremely slight playfulness. Something is preventing the Master from enjoying taunting the Doctor.

"You destroyed them."

"Is that a fact or an accusation?"

"Master…"

"Yes, I did."

They both fall silent. The Master turns around, crosses his arms, and glares at the Doctor with dozens of hateful, destructive thoughts running through his head over the pounding of the drums. They're back full force now, not that he'll tell the Doctor this piece of information. They're comforting, they're familiar. They are no longer faint when he looks at or touches the fragments of the white-point star; they are as loud as ever, expecting something.

"You destroyed an entire race. An entire race. They were Gallifreyans, Master, they were the closest thing we had-"

"No, they weren't." The Doctor's eyes fill with resentment. "You want to know what's left of Gallifrey, Doctor? You. Me. This TARDIS. They're all gone. Some half-developed, misplaced bunch of outlanders-"

"That still cannot displace the fact that you killed them in cold blood! You didn't even give them a warning!"

"Don't give me that. Don't you dare speak to me as if you would have done anything differently. Do you understand why I stopped you? Or is your brain too thick to get even that through? Maybe," the Master spits, leering, "I was sparing you."

"Is that really why you did it?" the Doctor spits. "To be kind? Because I can't believe that. You're too afraid to be kind," he sneers. The Master punches him straight in the mouth, sending him reeling back with the force of his strength and anger. The Doctor stumbles nearly to the ground and stares at the Master in shock. He's used to battling with words or moves in the large, intergalactic chess-like games that they play. He doesn't know why the physical violence shocks him.

"Of course, you'll feel the guilt no matter what, you masochist!" He spits at the Doctor.

"Then why did you really destroy them? Why not respect their memory and let me do it, with regretful hearts, instead?"

"Don't you get it? I liked it, too. It was so _you_ , and you are…it was _glorious_ ," his voice breaks, a new smile growing. "To feel that power at my fingertips, the TARDIS dying, crying out, a civilization screaming, weeping, Aoen's begging. All under my hand. I wished I could have watched the city go up in flames after the riots started. I wanted to feel the ashes underneath my feet and stamp them into the ground." His voice raises an octave with excitement.

"Then you haven't changed at all. Why are you here, if not to change?"

"You really thought I did?" He chuckles. "You can't change me. You can't take this away from me." The Master wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, eyes sparkling dark and freely. He sees the look in the Doctor's eyes and exhales heavily. "And you don't believe that, either! You don't get it! God, you are thick! You selfish…" He still wants to fight, and he swings his fist at the Doctor, who ducks away. "…Manipulative…"

"Manipulative? I got that from traveling with you!" the Doctor shouts back, dodging another punch.

"Oh no, I learned from the best. You do things to people, change them, influence them to try and be their "best," as you might call it to justify your actions, but you really destroy who they are. You've destroyed who I am completely!"

"Liar!" the Doctor yells. The Master turns on him, catching him by the collar and ripping it, but he continues to shout into his face, "You are not my responsibility! Who you are is not my fault! You chose that path." The Master tears away, buttons popping off under his hands, the Doctor's lip fat and bloody, anger burning in his eyes, and the Doctor finds that he's almost enjoying this. He takes a step forward, his mouth open to continue, but is interrupted.

"Would you just stop it?" the Master yells suddenly, throwing his hands up and catching the Doctor by the chest when he steps towards him, pushing him away in a childish mood. "Stop it, stop arguing with me, stop acting so noble and humble and brave and better than me, stop using this…this _fightin_ _g_ as a proxy for your feelings!"

"My feelings?" the Doctor takes a step forward and a breath, as if to engage again, and then two steps backwards, surrendering, quitting, and then not quite accepting defeat. "You fight me back!"

"Yes, because I enjoy it! Do you?"

"No, how could I ever -"

"You do. Because you _care_."

"Of course I _care_ , when you destroy so much!"

"No! You act like you have to be a force for good while I'm a force for evil, or some other quaint little tale you make up to convince yourself. Because sometimes you don't care about what's _really_ good for the universe, as long as your conscious can live with it. You don't care that everyone dies, because if you destroyed those people it would be like destroying Gallifrey again. And you couldn't do that, because you want my damn forgiveness but you still want to be better than me!" The Master has hit the nail on the head, and he knows it.

"But, what if we could have found another way!"

"There wasn't, and you didn't intend to find out! You just wanted it to feel like there was, because you want to feel absolved of that. You want to feel good, and brave, and righteous. And, worst of all, you want _me_ , you always have, and you can't live with that and live with yourself, so you hide behind it and your brave actions of ridding the universe of my terrors. You can't even admit it to yourself, because it's not brave to be the bedfellow of a villain, it's traitorous to everything you are. So you hide behind your actions and you fight."

"Are you calling me a coward?" The Doctor's jaw sets as he spits at him, no longer righteous, but stripped down, vulnerable. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Oh yes, you are. I scare the hell out of you, don't I?" He corners the Doctor against the console, poking him in the chest. "Because you don't know what I will do, even though you know what I'm capable of." The Doctor squirms. "Coward," he whispers. "You're a coward."

The Doctor punches, hitting his mouth, hard, and the Master stumbles back, laughing again. He rubs his face and grins from ear to ear, chuckling, "that's more like it! Admit it! You do care…you care…about _me_!" The Doctor swings at him again, this time catching his shoulder as he dodges away. The Master retaliates, punching the Doctor's soft stomach, delighted by his opponent's groans.

"It's natural to care about someone you once knew."

"No, no, more than that. You have feelings for me that you hate, which, in turn, scare you to death. Feelings that have little or nothing to do with our history, and a hell of a lot to do with the fact that I am your only true equal. I am the only thing that is guaranteed to fight and entertain you, spark emotion that you love and hate at the same time. And you're scared to death of that."

"I am not...afraid of you," the Doctor growls over a few more punches. The Master is laughing still, dodging his hits and adding his own. He finally grabs onto the Doctor's tie, forcing him closer and banging their foreheads together, and the Doctor is pushing at his shoulders, trying to push him away.

"Then, show me you aren't," he growls, pressing his lips to the Doctor's. The Doctor runs his hands from the Master's shoulders up to his neck, one cupping his cheek, the other firmly latched onto his collar. Even the kiss becomes a fight, over who dominates and who gives in to whom. The Master only growls into the kiss, gloating in his small victory. The Doctor is acting as he should, fighting him, and proving his worth. The Master buries his hands in the Doctor's hair, pulling the taller head down to his, leading them where the Doctor is frightened to go.

The Doctor breaks the kiss to stand back, his shirt somehow half torn and pulled halfway off of his shoulders, his hair standing straight up and the tips glowing golden in the soft light of the TARDIS, the mole on his shoulder blade standing out against his smooth, pale skin. The Master allows himself to just stand back and stare, committing every detail to memory. He doesn't remember doing all of that, but it is certainly good thinking on his subconscious' part. The Doctor lets his mangled shirt fall and takes a deep breath, his dark eyes shining as he tries to come up with words. The Master tries to wait patiently and begins to stare patronizingly, eyebrows raised, as the Doctor takes too long.

He's just lost in the challenge in the Master's eyes, the fire and challenge sparking at him. He wants to play and win more than anything, he can't let the Master win this round, but he wants him, very, very badly. He takes a moment to voice that in his head, _I do care, I want you, so very badly_ , and he runs over the tenses again and again, playing with them, _I cared/care, I needed/need you_ , and before he realizes it he's murmuring the phrases in Gallifreyan and the Master is staring in shock at the sight of him whispering, " _Of course I cared/care. How could I not?_ _I needed/need you._ " The Doctor sounds so desperate, almost commanding, that the Master doesn't even bother with words.

He all too willingly accepts the Master's next kiss, biting his lip, tugging at the delicate skin, and it's okay, he can just barely live with that now. And it's okay when he drags his hands across the Master's back, runs his fingers over the curves and dips in the Master's spine. It's okay when the Master lifts his fingers to the Doctor's temples, not even asking or saying please, because some things between them have always made sense.

When their minds join, this time, it's so much better than it's ever been. Everything is golden fire and sparks, a battle of two minds, teasing and snapping at each other, catching glimpses, feelings, desires, thoughts. Images flit back and forth and the Doctor gasps into the Master's mouth, his hands tightening at the small of his back, saying things like "please," and "we should," and "it's up to you," in murmurs he only half realizes he's voicing.

"Yes," the Master says, thinking, _to hell with it_ , and leads the Doctor away through the TARDIS, until the Doctor stops him at one door in particular.

The Doctor may have been holding back before, but he doesn't now; he's waited too long. The Master realizes that if it weren't for his rejecting and jumping hoops around the Doctor at first, this would have happened long ago. But he ignores that because this payoff is so good, even if the bed is too soft and his mind gives away more than he'd like, and the Doctor can hardly think coherently enough to scream his name. But everything is as close as it can get to perfect in the imperfections that rule them and the differences that have made these moments. Before long, they're both sore, bruised, and twisted in sheets and each other as they lay back on the bed, staring at the patterns in the plaster in the ceiling, thinking of whether they should say anything and what to say at all.

"'M not sorry," the Doctor mumbles after minutes pass silently. "For anything. 'Cause then it couldn't be like this." He rolls over from his side of the bed, the right, to look at the Master. The Master doesn't move, just breathes deeply and continues to follow the strange, swirling patterns of the ceiling with his eyes.

"For anything? Really? For destroying Gallifrey?" He can't help but chide the Doctor, even when he's so vulnerable. The Master clears his throat, clears away the huskiness, the traces of content feeling that are threatening to take over.

"Okay, fine, I regret it. Every day. 'Specially when I look at you." It might be the fact that the Doctor's mind was just opened and susceptible to his influence, but the Master can detect a lot of sincerity in his voice. Too much. The Doctor just keeps looking at the Master, memorizing his face, nearly reaching up to touch it but changing his mind and leaving his hand suspended in the air. "I can feel it, feel that it's just us. And even though this… _this_ …feels so right," he strains to try to string together the right words, but his mind has been stretched and tired and the words flit out among the dark, old recesses. He sighs. "I made that decision out of cowardice. But you didn't make that choice. I did. And when I did, I made sure that no one would ever have to again."

The Master grabs the Doctor's lifted hand tightly, harshly, crushing it in his own.

"You're wrong," the Master tells him, partly to shut him up, partly because it's his duty. "You make those decisions all of the time. Don't look at me like that," he hisses, the Doctor's sad, hurt eyes send shivers down his bruised spine and make him want to bite at his neck again - but no, he stands his ground. "You make those choices every day. You've broken more Laws of Time than I have."

"And you wish that I would have never destroyed them? You left the war, Master! You don't know what they did, what they were going to do." His voice turns pleading, which, in their current state, is another thing working against the Master. "I regret that decision every moment, but I can't change it, and I have to move on, living with the consequences of my actions. So, don't tell me that I'm wrong, don't tell me I should have made another choice, because you have no idea what it put me through, and what I am going to have to live with for the rest of my lives!" The Master just stares at the Doctor for a long moment.

"You…make up your mind."

"What?"

"You can't make up your mind. Do you want to be happy, despite everything, or do you want me to make you miserable?"

The Doctor mumbles a half-hearted response.

"I'm sorry?" The Master swiftly rolls over and pins the Doctor to the bed, hanging over him. He growls at him once more, and the Doctor takes his turn to feel the shivers run down his spine.

"Think about what you did." The Doctor does, and he feels him weaken under his commanding grip. "Now, think about consequences."

The Doctor considers it all, cause to effect, in the specific, organized way that only a Time Lord can. The Master kisses him when he opens his mouth to say more and he leans over him, their foreheads mashed together. The Doctor struggles with words and kisses the Master again instead, trying to translate them from the tip of his tongue to the Master. The Master's hips brush his and he gasps, squirming away.

After a moment the Master pulls away, but the Doctor's wrists are still trapped in his hands. He whispers, "Are you honestly, utterly, completely sorry? Could you ever really be?"

"N-no," the Doctor squirms slightly and the Master tightens his grip on the pale, bony wrists. "I want to be, but because…" he inhales sharply again and strains against the Master. He feels so cold and useless, attracted to the heat of the man above him.

"'Cause of how much you destroyed? Because of the death and darkness and disorder you caused? All of those lovely 'D' words, Doctor," the Master laughs, "But it was all for the 'Greater Good,' eh?" he laughs, deep and dark. "How glorious."

"Glorious," the Doctor half-whispers back, still straining towards him. The Master chuckles.

"You still want me, don't you? But it's finally more than that…you need me as well. And you don't even know..." The Doctor looks at him for a moment and feels almost dizzy. He needs to think…he needs oxygen in his brain. Now what…? He takes a deep breath, long and slow; filling his lungs from the bottom up, but the Master sees what he's doing and kisses him until he's spinning even worse. "You will always need me," he grins, turning his voice deep and husky, slowly lowering his hips to the Doctor's, playing it just as he wants. "You'll always fight me, and don't ever, ever stop. But always _remember_. There are other ways to fight. And remember...remember _me_."

He lets the Doctor go now, lets him pull their foreheads together and bask them in light, uncontrolled, soaring, flying, running, feelings and things running through his head. Their minds still clash, the light and the dark, bliss and misery, but they both bask in it, because it's how they operate.


	18. Time

The Master wakes up first, wakes up to the drumming and a heavy weight on his hearts, a dread that lingers in the pit of his stomach. The Doctor is curled up on his chest, an ear in between his hearts, wrapped around him like he doesn't want to let go. His breathing is steady and soft, so the Master just lies there, letting the Doctor hold on, even though he's sleeping peacefully. His skin is so pale, his face smooth and innocent. He does not look like a man capable of the many things he's done. None of his 900 years show on that skin, although the Master has made him look it before. This is the Doctor, neither winning nor losing, and it's the strangest and one of the most beautiful sights that the Master has seen.

After a long moment the Master shoves him off (he can't be too nice) without waking the Doctor, and gets out of bed. He's sure his clothes are scattered around the TARDIS hallway, and chuckles to think of it. His smile fades quickly. He leaves the room.

The Doctor wakes up not that long afterwards, slightly confused and a little worried about the Master's absence. He decides to dress and go looking for him immediately, and pulls a fresh set of clothes out of the wardrobe (of course, it's the Doctor's favorite bedroom, the closest one to being 'his,' as he's got the whole TARDIS at his fingertips) to wear. He changes quickly, the brown pinstripes and his white converse, a hand through his wild hair and he opens the door. The hallways are all empty, as are the kitchens, library, and wardrobe. Hesitantly the Doctor decides to look in the place he wanted to look in least, probably because he suspected the Master to be there.

The console room is empty upon first glance, but then the Doctor notices the doors, wide open. His hearts drop for a second, and then he sees the Master, dressed in a fresh, sharp black suit, sitting with his legs hanging out of the TARDIS, looking out over the constellations and bright gases visible in deep space. The Doctor slowly walks over to him, barely making a sound. The deep darkness of space looms before him, pinpricks of stars in many colors, each with their own story, half of which he knows. They are scattered like a farmer's seeds, some pulsing or flickering, some of the other phenomena floating like a fiery light show. The Master knows he's there but doesn't move to let him sit beside him. The Doctor takes a seat there anyways.

There's barely enough room for the two of them and they're packed tightly in the door frame, legs hanging out in empty space. The TARDIS generates a field that prevents the oxygen from being sucked out and the heat from disappearing too quickly, but it's still cold. It's not a bad cold; it's a numb, comfortable kind of cold that the Master likes. The Doctor needs a moment to get used to the entire sensation. It's the strangest feeling, his legs floating freely in space and the rest of his body brought down by gravity. A lightweight feeling builds in his stomach, like getting ready to fly. He stares with the Master for several minutes, stares at the stars flickering, stares at the lights moving and flowing, stares until he can _feel_ Time moving and evanescing, the end growing closer. But it can still wait.

It's a peaceful moment, a rare silence, and the Doctor wonders why. He leans back on his hands, closes his eyes, and takes several deep breaths. When the Master is sure he isn't looking he turns and stares at the Doctor, watching him exhale and his breath turn to frost.

"Are you ready?" the Doctor speaks softly, finally. The Master almost laughs, like anyone could ever be ready for such a thing. The Doctor opens his eyes and sits upright again.

"What am I supposed to be ready for?" the Master responds just as quietly, the words reverberating through his throat.

"I don't know," the Doctor replies, and for a moment, the Master almost believes him.

"Some of them are going out," the Master whispers, his breath freezing and hitting the Doctor's face when he turns his head to face them. "Entire civilizations lost forever, and I can feel it." The Doctor wants to get up immediately and set to work, but he gives the Master this one moment, this one chance to look out and speak. "We're born and then we live. Some last like caught fireflies, some are as complex as the flutterwing, but they all die, they all end."

"And we, _we_ just keep going on, through everything, together but always separate, stuck on two different sides, so complex. And yet…all of that can be destroyed." An inspired look enters his eyes as he speaks. "In an instant, every single thing can be unwound and erased, burned until even the ashes melt, and all of that power exists in Time. It's chaotic and controlling, impossible and immovable. Even for us. _Time_."

"We don't have much of it left," the Doctor adds.

"But what would it be like to _be_ Time?" the Master asks.

"I don't know," the Doctor ponders it for a moment. "I guess we're the closest we'll ever get."

The Master leans forward and kisses him for as long as he dares, in the threshold between the console room and the field of endless space and stars. When he pulls away the Doctor is looking at him with a type of trepidation in his eyes. He breathes, "come on," and stands up, the Master close behind him. He shuts the doors slowly, distractedly, and turns to the console, laying his hands lightly over the controls. This is it.

"Where are we going to do this?" the Master asks.

"Everything is Time Locked, of course-"

"Obviously."

"-so the lock had to be an aperture. It's a rift located where the larger sun is and isn't."

"Same coordinates as before?"

"Same coordinates."

The Doctor and Master pilot the TARDIS together, a smooth ride that lands them in a blank space. The time rotor moves up and down, making its infuriating noise, as usual, until they stop and are suspended in the center of what is and was the larger sun of Gallifrey.

"It's quiet. What do we do?" the Master asks. The Doctor is the one who locked it all.

"Join the pieces and throw them out. We can reset the lock, heal the fissures, and seal everything again." The Doctor takes a deep breath. The weight of his lost people is back, stronger than ever.

"What will the new key be?" the Master asks.

"There won't be one."

"What?"

"I had a key before…in case I found a way to go back and change it. Now I know that isn't possible. When we release the white-point star into the lock, it will fuse everything back into place. I'm not unlocking the Time War, just re-locking it. It doesn't need a key. If it doesn't have one, it can never break again."

"Is that possible?" the Master raises both of his eyebrows. The Doctor doesn't answer. There is no going back from this decision.

The four fragments of the white-point star, the pieces that they've worked so hard to find over the past few weeks, are wired into the console. The Master looks at them and the drums crescendo louder and louder. He mutters, "can we…just get this over with?" and waits for the Doctor, glares at him and hates him for prolonging this in the attempt of some kind of ceremony.

The Doctor takes two fragments in his hands; the second one they found on the planet Woman Wept, where he met a being who thought she was Rose Tyler, and the fourth one that he had almost taken at the cost of a growing civilization that was the last of his home.

The Master takes the other two fragments; the first one that he had earned from fighting the machines that plagued Edgar Allan Poe, and the third one that had nearly cost the Doctor his life in a cavern filled with Weevils.

The Doctor holds his breath and the Master holds back the frantic beating of his hearts, and anticipation grows. They connect the first two pieces and they fuse together, an idea slowly becoming whole. The silence that presses down on them makes their ears go fuzzy and their breathing rate increase. The Master adds the third piece and waits for the Doctor, partially holding the white-point star, leaving the rest up to him. The Doctor adds the final piece with bated breath, and watches as they all connect seamlessly into the sparkling white-point star. The Doctor holds it up to the light and squints. Wrinkles form on his forehead. He lowers his hand and lets the white-point star lay in the palm of his hand.

"There's a piece missing," he says frantically. "How could there be…" he trails off and swallows, staring at the shining diamond in his hand. The Master watches a tear drop into his palm, sparkling in the light. The Doctor looks up, stares at the Master with shining eyes.

"Yeah," the Master exhales.

"But…no…" the Doctor shakes his head. His hand becomes a fist around the crystal. "How? Why?"

"Because," the Master says slowly, "a white-point star is an idea."

"No…" he mutters in disbelief.

"A concept. An impression. A design. It could have been transmitted into anyone's mind."

"But, why did it have to be you?" the Doctor is angry, especially because he sees now that all of this is his fault, choice, and decision coming back at him. It has haunted him all of his life, as he can clearly see. "I'm sorry. I am so…sorry," he whimpers, trying to hold back his anguish. "How long have you known?"

"Since after I took the last fragment. I was waiting for you to figure it out."

"I'm sorry."

"Will you stop saying that?" he spits at the Doctor with disgust. "You are not sorry, you admitted it. You may have regrets but you're not sorry, because of what you feel. You think with your hearts and not your head."

"Donna said that," the Doctor mumbles.

"Yeah, and she figured it out too. It all makes sense now, but what doesn't is how we were so _blind_. How I thought I could travel with you when all we do is fight and hate each other."

"I've said before, I don't hate -"

"It's okay, because you do. I hate you, and you hate me. But that's not all, because somehow you care about me, even though you hate me so much. You lie to yourself about that, and you don't understand any of that. Maybe if you used your head for a moment, you'd get it." The Master snarls at him, angry, because all of this is the Doctor's fault. Not that he'd change anything. But the guilt on the Doctor's face, a product of his own set jaw and the scowling repugnance on his face, speaks for the Doctor's own regrets.

The Doctor lets himself think, lets himself reflect, before it's too late. He mumbles, "You came with me. When I offered. You could have said no. You should have. For once, you agreed to trust me a little bit."

"And look where it got me." Now it's the Doctor's turn to shoot the Master a nasty look.

"You still came. And you didn't leave, or run away, or kill me. Even though you hate me, and I hate you, like you said. You're right, okay? You are right! I care about you even though I hate you. But you, you…" the Doctor trails off, tilting his head a little looking into the Master's eyes and searching for some type of an answer there, lets his lips part and a tiny sigh escape. "Oh, you…" he reaches out and cups the Master's cheek with his free hand, leans forward and kisses him one last time, letting their minds brush against each other and trying to capture some kind of memory.

The Master pulls away and brushes past him, opens the doors. A bright light comes shining in, from the sun that is and isn't there. The Doctor clenches his fist and finds that the white-point star is gone, and is sparkling in the Master's hand instead. He takes a step forward. The Master, silhouetted against the light, turns and shakes his head at the Doctor. Another lone tear streams down the Doctor's face. He doesn't say a word, no final messages, nothing to tell him, because the Doctor is the Doctor and he will always know him, hate him, and love him.

The Master has always felt like a doomed man, but he doesn't think he'll make it out of this one, somehow. He takes a step forward, out of the TARDIS, and is dissolved into the light.

The Doctor stares for a moment before he flicks a switch on the console, closing the doors, and begins to haphazardly change the controls of the TARDIS, fixing the Time Lock and sealing it all. Sparks fly everywhere but he doesn't feel the burns or let the smoke bother him. He's numb, his head somehow empty.

He's alone again.

He sets the coordinates to deep space, somewhere safe to just…exist for awhile. He hesitates before pressing the lever that will send him into flight, staring at the doors, waiting. He doesn't know if he's expecting a knock, or for them to open, but nothing moves. He flips the lever and off he flies, into the vortex and away into the universe. The weight of his solitude hangs around him all too quickly. He's the last Time Lord. There is no hope. All he has now is his TARDIS, as always. He takes small comfort in this, and tries not to think of what could have been. Nothing ever works out the way he would like it to. The Master is gone, and he's the only one to blame.


	19. Epilogue

"Have I ever taken you two to Victorian times?"

The Doctor is shouting over the noise of the TARDIS in mid-flight, his voice drawling over her engines. He spins around the console and leans over the railings, looking down at the two companions on the level below.

"Yes, actually, there was the thing with the lizard-y woman…" Amy Pond sticks out her tongue to demonstrate.

"They're called Silurians," Rory corrects her, wrapping his arms around her waist. She laughs.

"Oh, go on then, Doctor, another time couldn't hurt. But I want to see my boys in period dress as well!" Rory swings her around and begins to carry her away towards the wardrobe, but a loud alarm from the console stops them.

"Teleport alert, everyone be aware!" the Doctor shouts. On the other side of the console room, by the doors, a beam of light begins to shimmer in front of their eyes, and River Song appears.

"Did someone say something about the Doctor in period dress?" she smiles, and the Doctor comes forward to hug her and say hello. Rory and Amy are waiting by the console for the two of them. They say hello, and River's smile widens.

"What's the occasion, dear?" the Doctor asks, adjusting his bow-tie self-consciously.

"I don't know, actually. It was very strange. Someone in charge let me have a day out..."

"Do you want to find out?"

"No, not really." River turns to Amy and Rory and asks them how they're doing. The Doctor sighs as he watches his friends chatter, and decides to set them on course for a nice afternoon out, and possibly an adventure.

"Here we are! 1994, England, Earth." The TARDIS lands with a bump and River presses a few buttons on the console, stabilizing them quickly. "Thanks, dear."

They follow the Doctor out the doors and into the sunshine. It's a lovely day, and they've landed on the outskirts of a lovely little village.

"Please tell me this isn't Leadworth," Amy groans. The Doctor sniffs the air and then looks at his watch.

"I'm not quite sure where we are, actually. It's 1998. We are in England, though. And it's a lovely day." He looks a little confused. "There's some kind of signal drawing us off course…"

"No, that's just your driving," River chuckles.

"Why are we here, anyways?" Rory looks uneasily at their surroundings.

"Ice cream! Come on, Ponds!" the Doctor shouts, running off towards an ice cream van he's just spotted. Rory grabs Amy's hand and the three of them follow him. He's already talking to the ginger-haired ice cream man, and they hope he hasn't said anything too outlandish yet.

"…One strawberry sugar cone for me, vanilla cake cone with sprinkles for Amy, double dark chocolate sugar cone for Rory, and…River?"

"Swirl in a sugar cone," she says. The man ducks into the van and they all look to the Doctor.

"How do you know my favorite ice cream order?" Rory looks at the Doctor, very amused and befuddled. He just winks.

"That will be £4," the ice cream man's deep voice interrupts them. The Doctor turns to Amy and Rory, looking embarrassed. Rory sighs and hands him the money.

"Thanks!" the Doctor smiles, hands the others their ice creams, and sets off on a walk. The others follow him, River casting a glance back at the ice cream van.

"Sometimes I forget how old you are," Amy says with a smile.

The Doctor takes a loud slurp from his ice cream and is about to reply when he yells loudly instead.

"OW! OW! OW!" He sticks out his tongue, revealing something small and round attached to it, with several small and sharp spines sticking into the flesh. A light blinks off and on, and a sudden beeping noise begins to emanate from it. "Ged id OFF!" he yells, slurring his words together, his eyes crossing comically as he tries to see it.

"Oh, hold still!" River shouts, grabbing his sonic screwdriver and pointing it at the tiny object. After a few frantic moments of buzzing and yelps from the Doctor, it detaches, and pops into her hand. He takes it and the sonic screwdriver from her. It has stopped beeping, but the object still flashing. He uses the sonic to scan it.

"It's not a weapon, don't worry. It's a computer, like a tiny answering machine…" The Doctor sighs and wrinkles his forehead before pressing it like a button. He holds it flat in his hand and watches a hologram of a screen appear above it. The words "MESSAGE ATTACHED" flash in blue. Amy, Rory, and River crowd behind the Doctor to read the words correctly. The Doctor hesitates before he presses the words where they hover.

A holographic sound meter appears and a deep voice begins speaking.

 _"Hello, Doctor. I do so hope that you enjoyed your ice cream."_ The Doctor raises an eyebrow, unable to place the voice. _"It's been awhile, hasn't it? I bet that this is the last thing you've been expecting. I can't have you forgetting about me. Well, I just thought I would give you fair warning this time. It's much more fun that way."_

His eyes widen as it begins to dawn on him, and the message continues. _"I'll be seeing you very soon, if you're lucky. Keep an eye out - you wouldn't want to lose one of your lovely friends, now, would you?"_ River's mouth pops open and she looks around suspiciously, but the Doctor doesn't ask her anything yet. The message pauses.

 _"Now, just to make sure you understand that nothing has changed between us, this device will self-destruct in five seconds. Goodbye, dear."_ A loud beeping replaces the message and the Doctor throws it as far as he can, takes a hold of Rory and Amy's arms, and runs. A small explosion sends some stones flying, but they are largely unhurt.

"What was that?" Amy asks finally. But the Doctor doesn't answer her and looks around frantically, finally locating the street and the ice cream van. He runs towards it, and is only a few feet away when it begins to dematerialize and disappear into thin air with the sound of roaring engines.

"Was that another TARDIS?" Rory asks, catching his breath.

"Yes," River answers, looking at the Doctor.

"Who was that?" Amy asks the Doctor. He doesn't answer, his eyes lost in thought, and she crosses her arms. "Doctor, who was that?"

"I'm guessing you haven't met him yet, then?" River sighs, pulling Amy and Rory aside.

"No. Who is he?" Rory puts a protective arm around Amy.

"He calls himself the Master." She looks at the Doctor, several feet away. He is biting his lip.

"The Doctor looks scared," Amy points out in a low voice. "I've never seen him this worried."

"I'm not worried, Amelia," he turns. "Everything is going to be okay."

"No one ever said it wouldn't," she replies, still looking worried for him.

"Let's get back to the TARDIS." They have already dropped their ice creams in the confusion, so they head back.

"So, the Master's back," River falls into step beside the Doctor.

"So, you've met him," he replies.

"Yes. And I know who he is. I will tell you, as I always do, to think with your _head_ this time." River sounds more worried than any of them are. The Doctor appreciates it, but he still closes his eyes for a moment and lets the pain wash away.

"That's what they all say. I will." River knows that he won't, but his mind is already set in high gear, thinking of the adventures that must await him, involving the Master, risk, and the best game of them all. He's ready for it, and he always will be.

Somewhere, in the back of the Doctor's mind, everything he knows has exploded and is whirring, rearranging itself, and tucking a tiny spark of hope away.

 _The End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I would like to thank everyone who read and reviewed this story. I hope you enjoyed it. If anyone would like to send me constructive criticism, I would really appreciate it, as I'm always trying to improve as a writer.


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